Let The Cheaters Have Each Other

The roar of the wedding reception suddenly cut to a muffled hum, as if someone had pressed a giant mute button on the world. Right there, in the center of the ballroom, my husband was clinking glasses with his ex-girlfriend. Amidst the raucous cheers of the crowd, they leaned in, their lips nearly touching as they shared a single maraschino cherry from a cocktail glass, teeth grazing in a way that was far too intimate for a public stage.

The guests eyes shifted toward me, sharp as spotlights, waiting for the inevitable explosionthe screaming match, the shattered glass, the drama they could gossip about over brunch tomorrow.

Instead, I let a slow, practiced smile spread across my face. I raised my hands and gave two sharp, echoing claps.

"Since you two are clearly so committed to the performance," I called out, my voice cutting through the tension, "why don't we just find an officiant and let you two tie the knot right here? It would be a shame to let all this romantic energy go to waste."

1.

Mallory licked her lips, a slow, cat-like movement, and looked down at me from the raised platform.

"Jackson," she purred, her eyes dancing with malice, "your wife is here. You don't think shes jealous, do you?"

Jackson didn't even look my way. He gave a dismissive shrug, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don't mind her. Lets keep going."

And they did. They continued to flirt and touch as if no one else existed, eventually leaning into a kiss that lasted far too long for a "bit of fun." They turned toward a photographer, their hands entwined, and formed a heart shape for the lens.

Within minutes, the photos were being blasted across Instagram and Facebook. Someone commented that they looked like "the ultimate power couple."

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Callie.

Paige, are you okay? This is insane. Are you really just going to let them do this?

I looked up at the stage. They were laughing now, a private joke shared between two people who clearly didn't care about the woman standing ten feet away.

Its fine, I typed back. If they want to play, let them play.

When they finally stepped down, Jackson naturally slid into the chair next to Mallory. They sat flush against each other, their thighs touching. Mallory picked up a piece of sushi, took a small bite, and then pressed the rest against Jacksons lips.

Even from across the table, the sight made my stomach churn with a cold, greasy nausea.

Mallory looked at me, her head tilted. "Were just old college friends catching up, Paige. You know how it isnostalgia hits hard. You don't mind, do you?"

The provocation was as subtle as a sledgehammer. In the past, I would have lost it. I would have caused a scene that people would talk about for years.

But now? Now, I just looked at them and saw two pathetic, desperate people.

"Knock yourselves out," I said, my voice flat.

This wasn't the first time. They had been pushing these boundaries for years, testing how much I would swallow.

It started back in college. Id caught them together, sneaking off for "study sessions" that ended in a secluded spot by the campus lake. When I found them, they were breathless and flushed.

I had been a firebrand then. Id grabbed Mallory by her hair, screaming, nearly dragging her into the water. But Jackson had stepped in, cold and calculated. He told me they were just "rehearsing a scene for drama class." He told me I had a "filthy mind" and that my jealousy was suffocating him.

He told me to apologize to her, or we were over.

He always knew exactly where to twist the knife. My fear of losing him was a leash he kept short. I had bowed my head. I had apologized to the woman who was trying to steal my life.

But my silence didn't buy me peace. Rumors started spreading through the campus message boardsvicious, twisted lies about my past, painting me as the unstable, abusive one. I knew it was her. I knew she was the source.

When I confronted Jackson, he demanded "hard evidence." Without it, he said, I was just being malicious. He told me I was small-minded, that I didn't have the "grace" a woman should have.

Back then, I was pathetic. I was so desperate for his scraps of affection that I promised to change. I promised to be better. I apologized until my throat was raw.

Looking back, I want to scream at that girl.

At the table, the other guests picked at their salads, their eyes darting between us like they were watching a tennis match. When the bride and groom came around for the toast, Mallory hooked her arm through Jacksons.

He didn't pull away. He smiled, and they rose together like the hosts of the evening. Mallory downed her champagne and "stumbled" slightly, collapsing into Jacksons chest.

Jackson didn't look for me. He didn't check to see if I was okay. He just wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders, his eyes filled with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months.

The table went silent, everyone waiting for my reaction.

I just took a sip of my water and smiled at the person next to me. "Don't look at me," I said lightly. "The show's only halfway through. Eat your dinner!"

2.

I was used to their blatant disrespect, but the stench of it was still suffocating. Eventually, I couldn't take the air in the ballroom anymore. I stepped out onto the terrace.

The Chicago wind bit at my face, sharp and sobering. They weren't hiding it anymore because they didn't feel they had to. The mask was off.

Fine. If the mask is off, the gloves are off.

As the reception wound down, Jackson emerged, leaning heavily on Mallory. He was swaying, the bourbon finally catching up to him.

"Paige," he barked, spotting me. "Get over here and help me get her to the car."

I didn't move. I didn't even look at her. "Shes your woman, Jackson. You carry her."

Jacksons jaw tightened. He thought this was just another bout of jealousy he could crush with a stern look. "Don't start with the drama. Ill explain everything when we get home."

Suddenly, Mallory "woke up." she threw her arms around Jacksons neck and planted a messy, wet kiss on his cheek, mumbling loud enough for the departing guests to hear that she was "the only girl who ever lived in his heart." Then, she drifted back into her "drunken" stupor.

The guests stared, mouths agape. Jackson just looked annoyed that I wasn't helping. He dragged her toward the valet, shoved her into the backseat of his Audi, and thenwithout a single word to meslid in right next to her.

Mallorys hand was clamped onto his. He didn't let go.

The car pulled away, leaving me standing under the flickering neon sign of the hotel. As the window rolled up, I caught a glimpse of Mallory. She wasn't asleep. She was looking back at me, a sharp, triumphant glint in her eyes.

I watched the red taillights disappear into the city traffic. My heart didn't break. It didn't even ache. It just went still.

The whispers started behind me. Can you believe her? Her husband leaves with another woman and she just stands there? Someone muttered that Jackson and Mallory were "soulmates" and that I was just the "placeholder" who got lucky.

They forgot one thing: I was his wife. They were blaming the wrong person.

I took a separate Uber home.

I stripped off my heels and my dress and sprawled out on the king-sized bed. It was the first time in years I felt like I could actually breathe.

I remembered how hard I used to work to please him. Id have dinner ready at six, his gym clothes washed and folded, his favorite craft beer stocked in the fridge. I thought if I was perfect, he wouldn't look elsewhere.

But then Mallory moved back to the city. Every time we went out, his eyes would track her like a heat-seeking missile. I became obsessed with my own perceived flaws. I worked harder, ran faster, stayed quieter. All he had to do was give me one scrap of praise, and Id be his loyal dog again for another month.

Then they got marriedwait, no. We got married. He chose me. I thought I had won. I posted the photos, wanting the whole world to see that he belonged to me.

Then came the night he came home late, "exhausted" from work. He went to shower and left his phone on the nightstand.

A notification popped up. It was Mallory.

My stomach dropped. I tried to stay calm as I swiped the screen.

Jackson, you were incredible tonight.

Below the text was a photo. A photo of them in a parked car, locked in a kiss that looked nothing like "rehearsing a scene."

My world didn't just crack. It detonated.

He had been telling me he was working overtime. Hed been coming home "too tired" to touch me, "too stressed" to talk. And all the while, he was with her.

3.

Mallory was back, and they had never truly stopped.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw his phone through the window. But I was just so... tired. We had been married for barely a year, and I felt like I had aged a decade.

Over the next week, Jackson announced he had to travel for "consulting gigs." Hed be gone for days at a time. I just said, "Okay."

I knew he was lying. His firm didn't even have out-of-state clients right now. He was just playing house with his "unfinished business" in some Airbnb across town. I didn't bother calling him out. I didn't care enough to hear the lies.

One night, around 8:00 PM, I was curled up on the sofa. In the old days, Id be frantic by now. Id be calling him, worried hed been in a car wreck or that some girl at a bar was hitting on him.

Now? He could be face-down in a ditch for all I cared.

I turned off my phone and went to sleep.

The sound of the front door slamming woke me up hours later. Jacksons voice boomed from the hallway, commanding as always.

"Paige! Get up and get me some water."

In the past, I would have been up in a heartbeat, dimming the lights, warming up a snack, making sure his pillow was just right.

I didn't move. "I'm sleeping. Leave me alone."

Jackson marched into the bedroom. He reeked of expensive bourbon and a perfume that was aggressively floralMallorys signature scent.

"Are you still pouting about the wedding?" he snapped. "I told you, I was the best mans partner for the procession. I had to sit with the bridesmaid. It was a job."

I let out a dry, sharp laugh. "Was the kissing part of the job description, too?"

Jacksons face went cold. "It was a bit! The DJ was egging everyone on. And she was wasted, Paige. What was I supposed to do? Leave her to wander into traffic?"

I looked at him, really looked at him. "There were fifty people there, Jackson. Why did it have to be my husband who took her home? Mallory has been a pro drinker since freshman year. She wasn't wasted. She was performing."

"Think what you want," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm not doing this with you."

"Fine. Go away then."

"What did you say?"

"You heard me."

Jackson frowned. Usually, two sentences of "explanation" were enough to make me apologize for being "difficult." He didn't like the change in the script.

"Paige, what is wrong with you lately? Are you on something?"

"I'm fine," I said, my voice steady. "Better than I've been in years."

"Stop being a brat!" Jackson was raising his voice now.

"I said I'm fine. You shouldn't have come back tonight. You should have stayed with Mallory. Isn't that what you really wanted?"

"So you are jealous!" He looked almost relieved. He liked it when I was jealous; it meant he still had power. "Look, Ill try to stay away from her, okay? God, I'm sticky and I feel like crap. Go turn on the shower for me. I need to wash this night off."

Hed spent the night with another woman, and he expected me to play maid.

"I told you," I said, pulling the duvet up. "I'm sleeping."

4.

Jacksons eyes flared, a dark, predatory look taking over.

"I said Id stay away from her! What more do you want?" he snarled. "Get up and fix the water. Don't push me, Paige."

I sat up slowly, the calm inside me hardening into something icy and indestructible.

"Jackson, since the day we got married, I have been your shadow. Ive asked for nothing. Ive served you. I don't owe you a damn thing. Leave me alone, or I will start saying things out loud that you won't like."

Finally, he snapped.

"You think you're so indispensable? Don't forget who pays the mortgage on this place, Paige. Keep acting like this and see how fast I file for divorce!"

I almost laughed. Every time he stayed out late, every time he ignored me, he used the D-word like a nuclear deterrent. He knew how much I "valued" our marriage. He knew Id do anything to keep the "wife" title.

I was bored of it.

I looked him dead in the eye and smiled. "Okay. Lets do it. Lets get a divorce."

"What?"