Free Better Off Without Him by Dee Ernst Page A

things had been not right for some time.”
    I was biting my lip. “Did you tell them I had no idea that things had not been right?”
    “No.”
    Lauren looked interested.
    “What else did you tell them?” I asked. I was chewing the other side of my lip now.
    “Just how, well, you know, people grow apart and that you and I had talked about this and you didn’t disagree with me moving out.”
    I had to hand it to him. That wasn’t exactly a lie. He just left out a whole bunch of other, relevant parts. “Did you tell them about Dominique?”
    “Who’s Dominique?” Miranda demanded.
    “So, you didn’t. Okay then, did you tell them that I didn’t know we had any problems until this morning?”
    “Who’s Dominique?” Miranda asked again.
    “Did you tell them that I was sailing along thinking everything was fine while you were carrying on behind my back?”
    “Daddy?” Jessica looked shocked. “But you said you two just drifted apart.”
    I was in Brian’s face now. I might have been screaming. “Did you tell them I didn’t disagree with you because you just walked in, packed up your things, and told me we were finished without giving me a chance to even give you an argument?”
    Brian looked disgusted. “See,” he said, “now they are going to be upset. You just had to get your two cents in, didn’t you?”
    If I had owned a gun, I would have shot him.
    “Brian,” I barked at his departing back. He turned. “Name one of my books.”
    He frowned. “What?”
    “Name one of my books. I’ve published twenty-seven books in the past eighteen years. Name one.”
    He looked at me like I was a crazy person. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t know the names of any of your stupid books.” Then he walked out.
    I couldn’t look at my daughters. The blood was running through my body so hard and fast I could barely hear beyond the rushing in my ears. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. Then I looked over at my three little girls.
    Jessica was white. Lauren was in tears. Miranda looked pissed.
    Miranda spoke. “I can’t believe he’d do that to you,” she said in a small voice.
    And for the first time in that long, long day, I thought that maybe, just maybe, we’d be all right.
     

Chapter Four
    When I awoke the next morning, there was a warm, unfamiliar presence in the bed. I opened one cautious eye.
    Fred. Right. Fred had often asked to be let up on the bed, but Brian always said no. During the times when Brian had been away for extended business trips, I had not given in because I knew that Brian would be back and Fred would face even more disappointment. Last night, Fred got the invite.
    As a sleeping companion, Fred was commendable. He didn’t snore. His legs didn’t twitch. When I snored, he didn’t shake me on the shoulder and insist I turn over on my side. He didn’t steal the covers or get up three or four times to pee. He didn’t fart and stayed on his side of the bed. He had it all over Brian.
    I smelled coffee and knew that the previous day had not been some bizarre Kaftka-esque nightmare. Brian, in the twenty years we had been married, had never made the coffee.
    I got out of bed and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom. On the way back, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror beside the dresser and almost had a stroke. I looked awful. My first thought was, God, no wonder he left.
    I forced myself to take another look, then began to process my figure logically. I usually didn’t look this bad. My eyes, for instance, were only bloodshot because of all those Carmichael Martinis. That was also why my skin looked so pasty, except for the red splotch on the side where the sheets had bunched up beneath my cheek and left an imprint. Normally, my hair was carefully brushed, not sticking straight up on one side.
    I squinted. A few years ago, my eyelashes completely disappeared. They could be coaxed back with two or three applications of black/black