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Crumbling to pieces
Sammie

Waiting for the jury’s verdict, my stomach twisted into knots and my heartbeat picked up pace, beating like a drum, but on the outside, my expression remained neutral and professional.
   These visceral reactions were nothing new, and I’d trained myself long ago to hide my true emotions when in court lest the other sharks in the room smelled the blood in the water and attacked.
   I couldn’t always say the same for my customers, though. Kathy Cornwel—the deceased’s wife and my client—grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed, numbing my fingers.
   Our case was solid, but Mr. Cornwel’s children from his previous marriage were well-connected, which meant it was fifty-fifty whether the final decision would be in our favor.
   In a perfect world, this trial would have lasted a day, and we’d have won already. But the rose-tinted glasses had shattered quite early in my professional career, and while I still believed in the good in people…the truth didn’t always prevail, especially when a considerable amount of money was involved.
   Silence descended on the room as the jury foreperson stood, ready to announce their verdict. “We, the jury, in the case of Cornwel versus Cornwel, find the defendant not guilty of the charge of forgery and the contest of Mr. Cornwel’s will unsuccessful.”
   “Thank you, Jury, for your service today. Court is adjourned,” the Judge said, and Kathy shot off her chair, almost tackling me off mine as she enveloped me in a tight embrace.
   “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted through her tears.
   I returned the hug. “John wanted you taken care of because he knew what his children and his ex-wife were like.”
   “Even in death, he looks after me,” she sniffled. “God, I miss him so much.” She cried in earnest now, and I waited patiently for her to compose herself, my mind straying to my own husband.
   True love knew no bounds—John and Kathy had been a prime example, and I had envied them for that. When was the last time Dan did something to take care of me? No matter how hard I tried, not a single occasion came to mind. I was the one making sure both our firm and house were organized and our bills were paid on time. There was no time for cooking or cleaning, but I had hired people we could count on for those jobs so that when we returned home after a difficult case in court or a long day at the office, we’d have food on the table and a clean space to relax in.
   Turning our own law firm into a leading company in our field had been our mutual dream and goal since we graduated from law school. But when had it become our only goal? Horrified, I realized we hadn’t even celebrated our anniversary this year.
   “You’re so lucky to have Daniel. I tell you, nights are the worst, Sammie,” Kathy said as she dabbed the tears on her cheeks with her pink handkerchief, pulling me out of my reverie.
   Lucky? I scoffed inwardly. My husband was sleeping next to me every night, but he might as well have been absent. The last time we’d been intimate was three months ago, and I still remembered it as if it was last night—or more accurately, I remembered what he’d said. His careless comment of ‘You need to lose weight. You’ve turned into a fucking whale’, before turning his back to me and promptly starting to snore, had cut deep.
   It wasn’t the first time he’d pointed out the things he found annoying about me. Our sex life had never been great, but, at least in the beginning, he’d made me feel wanted. I couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed, but it had. Daniel was my first and only, and I’d always had trouble getting off, but it’d been a while since he cared enough to do something about it. The last few times I initiated any kind of intimate act, he’d turned me down.
   I always tried to anticipate my husband’s needs, to make sure he lacked nothing. So his dismissals hurt the most because there was always an excuse that revolved around some kind of failure on my part—you’re too fat; you’re too dry; can’t you be more…sexy?—and I could only take so much rejection before I started feeling relieved the nights he ignored me.
   These feelings, though, weren’t healthy, and we’d have to work on our sex life sooner rather than later, but I dreaded the conversation.
   Maybe I should sign up at the gym, lose a few pounds first and then breach the subject…
   Yes. That was a better plan, I thought, and focused on my friend. “John was an amazing man. He’ll be dearly missed,” I said, bypassing the comment about my husband. “Take your time to mourn, and if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m just a phone call away.”
   “Thank you.” She hugged me once again before we both gathered our stuff and said goodbye as we exited the courthouse, going our separate ways.
   On the way to my car, I went over the mental list of all the documents we’d need for the Mayor’s case. The appointment at Mr. Donovan’s office was early the next morning, and we wouldn’t have time to drop by the law firm if we forgot any of the contracts.
   Taking out my cell phone, I called the office but no one picked up, so I dialed my husband’s number and waited.
   “You’ve called Daniel Miller. Leave a message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
   Upon hearing the answering machine, I hang up. “Darn it, Dan.” I sighed, looking at the time. It was almost seven in the evening. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep this early.
   I wanted nothing more than to take off my shoes and maybe soak in the tub for an hour or three, but all that would have to wait because work would once again have to take priority over my needs.
   On autopilot, I got in the car, strapped my seatbelt on, and drove to the firm. It was a Thursday night and traffic was terrible, turning a fifteen-minute route into a three-quarters of an hour trip, so by the time I opened the office door, I was utterly exhausted.
   Stepping inside the dark entrance—where the intern and the secretary’s desks were situated next to the waiting area—I navigated the place I knew like the back of my hand and headed straight to my office.
   The building was one of the older ones in the district, with high ceilings and beautiful art déco crown molding that had an old-world charm to it. The chandeliers gave off a posh vibe, and the Persian carpets on the floor made you feel like you were walking on clouds. I loved my work space, and knowing it’d been our hard work that had afforded us this luxury made coming here in the mornings even more enjoyable.
   I switched on my desk lamp. The folder I’d prepared for Mr. Donovan, which Daniel was supposed to have taken with him when he left for the day, was right where I’d left it—on top of my keyboard. “He had to do one thing,” I huffed, and snatched my cell from my bag, redialing my husband, wondering what could have made him forget the one thing I’d asked him to do.
   Suddenly, Mozart’s Requiem—my husband’s ringtone—started playing.
   I followed the sound to Molly’s workspace before hanging up. There, the device he never parted from, sat atop our new intern’s desk. Had he forgotten his phone? I wondered as I turned toward his office.
   A faint sliver of light that I hadn’t noticed earlier was coming from beneath the closed door.
   My heart skipped a beat, and an icy shiver raced down my spine.
   Was my husband still here or someone else with nefarious purposes? All the lights were off, which was unusual because Daniel often forgot to turn them off when he was the last to leave.
   I strained my ears in an effort to hear any other sounds besides my harsh breathing. A rhythmic thump thump seemed to be coming from his office.
   “What do I do?” I whispered, debating whether to call the police.
   Don’t be a baby, I chastised myself. Imagine notifying the authorities, only for them to come to find your husband or the cleaner working late.
   “Calm down, Sam,” I said out loud, forming a plan in my mind. First, I’d check, then act accordingly.
   Tapping nine one one and keeping my thumb hovering over the call button, just in case, I clenched the phone to my chest and tiptoed to the door. The closer I got, the louder the noises became. Tilting my head toward the room, I tried to decipher what I was hearing. The sounds—muffled grunts mixed with a few groans—weren’t really making sense with the scenarios running through my brain.
   Was Dan working out? Was there more than one person in the room?
   More curious than afraid, I gently turned the lever and slowly opened the door.
   The moment I did, though, a woman’s scream pierced my ears and my jaw cracked the floor.
   The sweaty smell of sex, mixed with the flowery notes of an expensive perfume and the smoky aroma of tobacco from the cigar still burning on the ashtray, assaulted my nostrils, making me gag.
   “That’s it,” Dan growled while thrusting like a man possessed in and out of Molly—the new intern—who was bent over his desk, wailing like a banshee. “Take it all like the good girl that you are. So. Fucking. Tight.” His words were accompanied by an animalistic sound. One I’d never heard come out of his mouth when we’d been intimate.
   “Yes! Yes, Sir. I want it all,” she cried out, spasming on top of the wooden surface, caught in the throes of an orgasm.
   My hand flew to my mouth, horror keeping my muscles locked in place. “Oh my God.” I was an idiot.
   There was no way they’d heard my muffled voice amid all the ruckus they were causing. The movement, though, must have alerted them to my presence, because they both froze. Although, it seemed my husband’s still twitching hips had a will of their own.
   “What the fuck are you doing here?” he spat.
   The barely twenty-three-year-old scrambled from underneath him, revealing his still hard dick. His still hard, bare, dick.
   “What the hell, Daniel? You didn’t even think to wear a condom? What if she falls pregnant? She’s barely legal.”
   Why, oh why, was this the first thing to come out of my mouth? I almost slapped my forehead in exasperation but managed to restrain myself. Every time I’d mentioned wanting children, he’d turned me down. Yet with her…he was…willing. Oh God.
   ‘So. Fucking. Tight.’ His words played on repeat in my mind, torturing me. He often complained that I was too loose, that I needed to work out to lose weight and tighten up. Guess Molly didn’t have the same issues.
   All this time, I had thought it was both of our fault that our sex life was mediocre at best.
   I’d thought my lack of orgasms was partially his fault, too.
   But Molly had just screamed her head off…and the way she’d come….
   Clearly, he wasn’t the issue—I was.
   A chasm opened where my heart used to be. I pressed my palm to my aching chest, trying to stave off the pain. Moisture gathered in my eyes, threatening to spill, but I ground my jaw and swallowed hard. I wouldn’t cry in front of them.
   Dan, watching his lover putting her clothes on, casually zipped up his pants, tucking himself away before sitting on his chair and picking up his cigar as if nothing was going on.
   As if my world wasn’t crumbling to pieces.
   As if his action wouldn’t destroy what we’d been building for the last twenty years.
   Molly, in the meantime, got dressed in record time and raced out of the room without a backward glance.
   “Don’t bother coming back tomorrow,” I called after her, but she didn’t reply—I didn’t care. Good riddance.
   My husband turned his shrewd gaze to mine, drew a deep breath, then exhaled, the smoke obscuring his calculating look for a few seconds. “We’re not firing Molly. She’s good at her job,” he drawled without a care in the world, and suddenly, two things dawned on me.
   This probably wasn’t the first time he’d cheated on me, and he felt no remorse whatsoever.
   God! How could I have been this oblivious? Did others in our circle know? Was I the last to know? If that were the case, I’d die of embarrassment.
   Those realizations changed everything, but I wouldn’t rush into a decision I might regret later; I’d verify the facts first, decide second.

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