My husband smiled as he announced he was leaving me for our housekeeper, as if twenty-five years of marriage meant nothing. “You can have the lake house,” he said, as she slipped my necklace over her finger and whispered, “Now he belongs to me.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

bad,” he snapped.

“I thought you wanted peace,” I replied.

“I want you to sign the divorce papers.”

He tossed them on the table.

I glanced at them. “The lake house again?”

“More than you deserve.”

I met his eyes. “Do you remember who paid for it?”

His expression tightened.

“Don’t rewrite history,” he warned.

“I don’t need to. I kept records.”

For a moment, I continue reading …