“Situation?” Candace laughed. “Is that what we’re calling your wife now?”
“Amara is… she’s a good person,” Derek said, “but she doesn’t understand what it takes to build something real. She’s content with small dreams, small goals. She doesn’t push me to be better like you do.”
I pressed my back against the partition wall, feeling like I might be sick. This was how Derek really saw me—as someone holding him back from his potential.
“When are you going to tell her?” Candace asked.
“Soon. I need to get the business restructured first. Make sure all the assets are properly positioned. I can’t afford to lose half of everything I’ve built because I was careless about timing.”
“You mean half of everything we’ve built,” Candace corrected. “I’ve been working just as hard as you have to grow this company.”
“Of course, baby. We built this together. That’s why I need to be smart about how I handle the divorce. Amara thinks she’s entitled to half of everything just because we’re married, but she has no idea how much this business is really worth now.”
Divorce. The word hit me like a sledgehammer.
He was already planning to divorce me, already calculating how to minimize what I’d get from the settlement. I’d been worried about us growing apart, but he’d been actively plotting to leave me while I made him lasagna and worried about whether he was eating enough vegetables.
“She’s going to be so shocked,” Candace said with obvious satisfaction. “She really has no clue, does she?”
“None at all. She still thinks I’m the same guy she married eight years ago, struggling to get his business off the ground. She has no idea about the government contracts, the offshore accounts, any of it. As far as she knows, we’re barely breaking even.”
They were both laughing now, and the sound was like glass breaking in my chest. I thought about all the times Derek had told me we needed to be careful with money, that the business was still touch-and-go, that we couldn’t afford for me to be spending too much on groceries or clothes. Meanwhile, he’d apparently been hiding a fortune and planning to keep it all for himself.
“I should feel guilty,” Derek continued. “But honestly, she’s been so checked out lately. All she does is sit at home working on those little design projects that barely pay anything. She has no ambition, no drive. Sometimes I think she’d be happier without the pressure of being married to someone who’s actually trying to succeed in life.”
That was the final straw.
Derek wasn’t just cheating on me and planning to divorce me. He was rewriting our entire marriage history to make himself the victim. I was the one who had sacrificed my career to support his dreams. I was the one who had managed our household, entertained his clients, and worked freelance jobs that barely paid the bills because he’d convinced me his business needed all our resources to grow.
I backed away slowly, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold onto the casserole dish. I made it to the elevator without them hearing me, but once the doors closed, I completely fell apart. Eight years of marriage, and this was how little I’d meant to him. I wasn’t even worth an honest conversation about his unhappiness. I was just an obstacle to be managed and eventually discarded.
The drive home was a blur of tears and disbelief. I kept thinking there had to be some explanation, some context I was missing. Maybe they were talking about a business partnership. Maybe Derek was just venting his frustrations without really meaning any of it.
But deep down, I knew what I’d heard. I knew the tone in their voices, the casual intimacy that spoke of a relationship that had been going on for months, maybe longer.
When I got home, I threw the lasagna in the trash and sat at our kitchen table, staring at the wedding photos on the wall. In every picture, Derek and I looked happy, in love, committed to building a life together. I tried to pinpoint when that had changed, when I’d become a “situation” instead of his partner.
Derek came home around midnight, whistling cheerfully as he walked through the door. He found me still sitting at the kitchen table, though I’d cleaned up my tears and tried to compose myself.
“Hey, babe,” he said, kissing the top of my head like nothing had changed. “Sorry I’m so late. That presentation kicked my ass, but I think we nailed it.”
I wanted to confront him right then, to demand answers and honesty, but something held me back. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was some survival instinct telling me I needed to be smarter about this. If Derek was planning to divorce me and hide his assets, I needed to be prepared. I needed to understand exactly what I was dealing with before I showed my hand.
“That’s great, honey,” I managed to say. “I’m proud of you.”
He smiled and headed upstairs to shower, completely oblivious to the fact that our marriage had just ended in his office downtown.
As I listened to the water running, I realized that the man I’d loved and trusted for eight years was essentially a stranger. And if he could lie to me so easily about something this fundamental, what else had he been lying about?
That night was the beginning of the longest six months of my life, pretending everything was normal while secretly trying to figure out how to survive what was coming. But it was also the beginning of me remembering who I’d been before Derek had convinced me to make myself smaller to fit into his vision of the perfect supportive wife.
I just had no idea yet how much my father’s memory was about to change everything.
Two weeks after discovering Derek’s affair, I finally worked up the courage to see a lawyer. I’d spent those two weeks in a fog of denial and desperation, secretly hoping I’d misunderstood what I’d overheard, that there was some innocent explanation for Derek’s words about divorce and hidden assets. But every day brought new evidence of his deception.
Derek had become even more secretive about his phone, taking calls in private and working late almost every night. He’d also started making comments about my freelance work, subtle criticisms about how I was “wasting my potential” on small projects instead of thinking bigger. I realized now that he was laying the groundwork for his narrative about why our marriage had failed, painting me as unambitious and unmotivated.
Finding a lawyer had been harder than I’d expected. Derek knew every attorney in town through his business connections, and I was terrified that word would get back to him before I was ready. I’d finally found Mrs. Patterson through a women’s support group I discovered online.
She specialized in helping women navigate difficult divorces, particularly cases where there were hidden assets or financial manipulation involved.
Her office was in an older building downtown, nothing like the sleek glass tower where Derek’s attorney worked. Mrs. Patterson herself was in her early sixties, with graying hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She offered me tea and spoke in a gentle voice that made me feel like maybe I wasn’t going crazy after all.
“Tell me about your situation, Amara,” she said, settling back in her chair with a legal pad ready.
I started with the affair, explaining what I’d overheard at Derek’s office.
Mrs. Patterson nodded sympathetically but didn’t seem particularly surprised. She’d probably heard similar stories dozens of times before.
“And he mentioned restructuring assets and positioning them for a divorce?” she asked.
“Yes. He said something about not wanting me to get half of what he’d built. And he mentioned offshore accounts. I had no idea we had offshore accounts.”
Mrs. Patterson made notes as I talked.
“How long have you been married?”
“Eight years. We started dating ten years ago, right after I graduated college.”
“And what was your financial situation when you married?”
I thought back to those early days when Derek was just starting his consulting business and I was working at a marketing firm downtown. We’d both been young and hopeful, living in a tiny apartment and dreaming about our future together.
“We were both pretty much starting from nothing,” I said. “Derek had just launched his business and I was working an entry-level job. We pooled our resources to get by, but there wasn’t much to pool.”
“When did you quit your job?”
“Three years ago. Derek said it would be better for his business if I could be more flexible, help with entertaining clients, and managing our home life. He convinced me that my salary wasn’t worth the stress it was causing both of us.”
Mrs. Patterson looked up from her notes.
“And since then, you’ve been financially dependent on Derek?”
“I do freelance graphic design work, but it doesn’t pay much. Derek handles all our major finances. I have access to our joint checking account for household expenses, but he manages everything else.”
“Do you know the extent of his business assets?”
