“But he’s divorced.”
That’s what she said first. Just flat like she was correcting me about the weather.
I honestly laughed because my husband Mark was texting me twenty minutes earlier asking if we needed milk on the way home.
Then she started looking uncomfortable and asked what his last name was.
The second I said it, another woman across the table stopped shaping her clay bowl and slowly looked up at me too.
Apparently this girl had been dating him almost eight months.
She said he told everybody his ex-wife was “still attached” and made coparenting difficult. Said he stayed at her apartment most weekends because “the custody schedule was chaotic.”
We don’t even have shared custody issues. We’ve been married twelve years. He coaches our son’s baseball team.
I asked to see pictures because part of me still thought maybe same name, same story, weird coincidence.
It was my husband.
Same truck. Same stupid gray quarter-zip he wears every Sunday. Even our dog was in one photo laying on her couch.
The woman kept apologizing over and over once she realized what was happening. Then she suddenly got quiet and asked if I knew about “the condo.”
I said what condo.
Apparently Mark had been telling her for months that he was buying a condo after the divorce finalized. Said delays with paperwork were why she’d never seen it yet.
She pulled up one of his old texts trying to prove he wasn’t lying to her too.
At first I only noticed he had my contact saved under my first name instead of “wife.”
Then I noticed the screenshot above the messages.
It was a mortgage approval letter.
Co-borrower:
My oldest daughter Ava.
She turned eighteen three months ago.