This is the first time I’ve heard from him since I left. It’s not like I got a new phone number or didn’t tell him I was leaving.
He knew exactly where I went because I booked everything with our joint credit card, paying it off as soon as the wheels touched the tarmac on Maui. The last thing I wanted was to hear that I owed him money or some bullshit.
I always kept a separate bank account from our joint one, which, looking back, feels like I knew this was going to go to shit. Luckily for me, it was loaded down with all my “hobby” money, which is what I used to rent this place.
I’m scowling at my phone when Kai’s text comes through, a bright spot in this mess, and my sour face fades.
* * *
Kai: 142 Mililani Ln. If you don’t want to walk, let me know and I’ll come by and pick you up. It’s about a ten-minute walk from your place.
* * *
I smile stupidly at his use of punctuation, capitalization and his sweetness, offering to pick me up. Totally different vibe than the text I just got from Sean.
* * *
Me: I’ll walk, but thank you for the offer. Is there anything I can pick up or anything you want me to bring?
Kai: Nah, just you is perfect.
* * *
Fuck. Why does he have to be so sweet when I want to hate men right now?
And when I go back to the text from Sean, debating answering him, I decide against it.
I know we have a prenup. I was the one who fucking signed it, and I know he owns my car. I never wanted it in the first place, perfectly content to walk to work. It was him who insisted on giving it to me as a “gift,” but it was really just a publicity stunt to show what an amazing husband he was.
Plastered all over social media, this stupidly over-the-top SUV with its blacked-out rims and custom paint. I hated it, and it generally sat in our underground parking garage.
I need a car here, though—something I will pick out myself, something used and something that I actually want. Although I have no idea how to go about buying a car, and that sounds so anti-feminist, but it’s the truth. Maybe Kai can help me with it.
Again, I find myself reading Sean’s text, torturing myself with every humiliating scenario, replaying the past, and wondering how I even ended up here in the first place.
How did I miss every red flag? How was I so naïve to believe I was different? These are the questions I constantly ask myself now that I’m away from it. There’s nothing more embarrassing than the past. And there’s nothing more humbling than looking back and wondering how I could have been so stupid.
He said he loved me because I didn’t know who he was. I was refreshing and new, like the first snowfall of the season, but like the snow, I became old and dirty and boring. He grew tired of the normalcy and simplicity, and with each tabloid story came new excuses.
And I believed every one of them.
Always feeling like an outsider, never quite fitting in with Sean’s life or his lifestyle, and far too many times, I opened my mouth at the wrong time. I said the wrong thing or gave away too much about our relationship.
It was a delicate balance that I never could quite master, but when he asked me to marry him, I thought I had won.
Won what? No idea now. I guess I would be the proud owner of a beaten-down self-esteem and trust issues, along with a repertoire of stories that I don’t dare say out loud.
Keep everything private, I was told. Locked up tight because one false move could ruin his whole reputation.
When did I become this person?
It happened so slowly I didn’t realize I had ever lost anything.
But the whole point of leaving New York and leaving Sean was to try to heal from this, and that’s what I’m going to do tonight.
Forget the text message. Let my lawyer handle it. That’s what I hired her to do, letting her know that I honestly want nothing from him other than to pay my legal fees.
I don’t need his money, not that the prenup would allow it anyway, because all I want is for this to all go away, like it never even happened.
