As Amy prepares herself for a relaxing day at home, she receives a voicemail that she sent in error, which completely alters all she had ever believed she knew about her marriage. She puts on a brave face, ready to give her husband what he deserves, rather than breaking under the weight of her emotions.
It had been six wonderful years since Mark and I had been together. Having worked in the same building for many years, we had known each other for a considerable amount of time. However, Mark was the building’s Casanova, having a relationship with a new person at all times.
Despite this, Mark decided to have a family with me when he was ready to settle down. Now, after six years had passed, we were still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship.
Or so I had believed.
Mark informed me that he needed to go into the workplace on the weekend before last.
“I just need to catch up on paperwork, Amy,” according to him. “Maybe I’ll bring everything home, and I can work from here.”
I told them to “do that.” “Nobody wants to be in their office on a Saturday.”
After giving me a kiss on the forehead, Mark made a commitment to deliver Indian food to my house, and then he left.
After some time had passed, I came to the conclusion that Mark had arrived at his desk, made himself comfortable, and would only come back when he was finished.
I was unable to lodge a complaint. What I really wanted to do was curl up with a cup of tea and a book. My new goal was to make self-care a priority on Saturdays, and that was the new lesson I wanted to live by.
During the middle of the chapter that I was reading, my phone rang. At first, I thought it was an interruption, but then I noticed that Tom’s name was flashing on the screen. As a result of the fact that Tom, my husband’s best friend, was like a member of our family, I was immediately interested in his voicemail.
“Hello,” Tom murmured into the phone line. My arrival for our double date is going to be a little bit late. I’ll be there at approximately two o’clock, is that okay? It is Coachella, isn’t it?
The contented tone of Tom’s voice reverberated across the peaceful space.
My eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.
Which double date is it? It occurred to me.
It had not occurred to me that Mark had suggested anything of the sort. The only thing he said was that he had to go to work, and he promised that he would make an effort to bring his work home with him, so that we could still spend the day with.
In the hopes that I had misread the message, I played it back to myself. On the other hand, there was Tom’s voice with a voice as clear as the sun, discussing a double date.
My cup of tea, which was half-drunk, and the book that I was reading were left on the bedside table, and I hurriedly got dressed. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon. I did not want to accept the fact that Mark was being dishonest with me.
But if it were not true, why would Tom bring up the possibility of a double date? It occurred to me.
I moved on because I demanded answers to my questions. It was imperative that I personally observe what was taking place.
The Coachella music festival turned out to be an outdoor restaurant that attempted to maintain the festival atmosphere by playing loud music and decorating with low-hanging decorations. My ability to fit in with my surroundings was not difficult at all.
In order to avoid being discovered, I opted for a remote location that provided me with a clear view of the entrance. I was in excruciating pain as I waited, and the longer I stayed there, the more I anticipated I would finally see Mark. In an effort to soothe my anxiety, I ordered a cocktail.
After that, Mark entered the room, and contrary to my most fervent hopes, he was not by himself but rather carrying a woman on his arm. She looked absolutely stunning, as she was dressed in brand clothing from head to toe, and she was the epitome of a Gucci mother.
My heart sunk to it.
There was a table where Tom and his wife, Sasha, were sat, and I watched as Mark and his woman made their way over to it. The table was almost concealed by hanging plants. Each of them sprang to their feet and gave the joyful couple a hug. Evidently, the voicemail was intended solely for Mark to receive.
As I continued to observe them, I noticed that Mark was looking at her with an affectionate expression on his face and gently stroking the back of her neck with his fingers.
Nevertheless, in the midst of a tornado of feelings, a callous determination crept over me. It was time to take action, not shed tears at this moment. My voice was calm yet assertive as I called for a waiter to come over.
I gave Mark the instruction, “The most expensive champagne you have, for that table,” while gesturing in a discrete direction towards him.
The waiter, who was aware of the drama that was occurring beneath the surface, complied with a slight smile and a nod.
It was a tiny accomplishment for them to be able to maintain their expressions of confusion and false smiles when the champagne was brought to their table. I could hear Mark’s laugh even above the music and the other people talking.
I quickly took a picture of them while they were pretending to celebrate, and I uploaded it to the internet, tagging Mark in the process. After a few minutes had gone, I continued to wait while sipping on my cocktail without stopping.
The expression on Mark’s face when he first recognized the notification was priceless. However, despite his hurried scan of the room, he was still unable to locate me. His face became completely devoid of color. He attempted to call me out of desperation. Disinterestedly, I listened to the ringing of my phone while his calls went unanswered.
There was one more time that I summoned the waiter over, and this time I asked for a piece of paper and an additional bottle of champagne.
Greetings, and here’s to a fantastic double date as well as our divorce! I penned, and made sure to sign off at the bottom.
When I left the restaurant, I was suffering from feelings of sorrow and betrayal, and my temporary bravado was fading away.
Mark arrived at his house that evening, proceeded to pack his belongings, and announced that he was moving to Tom’s residence. He expressed his regret and stated that he was merely having a good time. Apparently, he needed to relieve some of the stress that he was experiencing at work.
Not a single word has been exchanged between us in the past week. But I believe that it is time for me to submit the paperwork for the divorce.
