When my husband refused me his coat on a bitter winter night, but seconds later draped it over his female “best friend,” I knew our marriage was over. The only question left was how to make him understand exactly what he’d lost.
My husband, Mark, and I have a running joke with our friends. “Where’s Chloe?” someone will ask, and everyone laughs because they already know the answer.
She’s with Mark.
She’s always with Mark.
Chloe is his best friend. That’s what he calls her, anyway.
I have other words for it, but I’ve kept them to myself for 10 years because I’m the “Cool Wife.” I’m the one who doesn’t get jealous or insecure. I’m the one who understands that men and women can be friends without it meaning anything.
Except it does mean something when that friend is 10 years younger and treats your husband like he’s the sun she orbits around.
Mark’s known Chloe since she was a kid.
She’s the little sister of his high school buddy, which apparently makes their relationship sacred and untouchable.
Any time I’ve even hinted at discomfort, he pulls out that shield and waves it around like it explains everything.
“She’s like a sister to me, Sarah!” he’d say.
I don’t have a brother, but I’m pretty sure if I did, I wouldn’t drape myself across his lap at backyard barbecues or text him at 2 a.m. about nightmares.
For a decade, I’ve smiled through it. I’ve been understanding when she showed up to our anniversary dinner as a “surprise.” I’ve been gracious when she called Mark crying about her latest breakup and he spent three hours on the phone talking her down.
I’ve been the bigger person so many times I’ve practically grown wings.
But there’s only so much a person can take before something breaks.
And that brings us to Mark’s 40th birthday.
It started out beautifully. We’d reserved a private room at Harrison’s, this gorgeous steakhouse downtown with dark wood paneling and leather booths that smell like old money.
I’d planned everything myself over the past two months. The guest list, the menu, and the cake.
I wanted it to be perfect for him.
And it was perfect… right up until we sat down and I realized Chloe had positioned herself in the seat directly next to Mark.
Which meant I was across the table, watching.
I spent two solid hours watching her hand rest on his biceps. Watching her lean in so close that her blonde hair brushed his shoulder every time she laughed. Observing her whisper things in his ear that made him smile in this private way that used to be reserved for me.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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