My relationship with my kids was growing stronger, I felt like, even though Julise still had her days. Teenage girls sometimes carried storms inside them, but she was trying. That mattered more than anything. Chiana had been struggling with the twins dabbling in sex. She said it was something new every few days. Those boys were taking my girl through it. St. Jean boys indeed. True to their last name. I smiled faintly to myself, thinking about the way she described them.
There was something about raising boys that kept women humble. You could think you had everything figured out one minute, and the next minute, they'd remind you how little control you actually had. "Hey, at least you’re being proactive about it and not being delusional. You know people love to saywhat the kids won't do," I responded to her. The road curved slightly ahead of me and I slowed down, easing through the turn.
"I can bet you I won't. Soon as you say what they won't do, they show you what they will," she said. I could hear her moving around on the other end of the phone. Probably pacing through her kitchen the way she did when she was thinking too hard about something. "Off topic question, I know," she continued. "Two weeks ago, you kept talking about seeing an attorney. You still thinking of going through with that?" She threw a heavy question at me then.
My hand tightened slightly around the steering wheel. The words sat in the car for a second before I answered. Lately, shit had been off with Jules, and I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was. I knew he had trial coming up, but it wasn't that. It wasn't anything loud enough to name. I just didn't know what it was. Two weeks ago, I called Chiana and vented to her that I was thinking about going to see a divorce attorney. The thought had come out of my mouth before I really examined it. And once it did, I couldn't pretend it hadn't been there.
The word divorce used to feel heavy when I thought about it. Like a breaking point. But lately it didn't feel like that at all. It felt quiet. Like something that had been slowly unfolding for years. Lately I'd been feelings lately like me and Jules had run our course. That realization didn't hit like heartbreak the way people imagined. It arrived softer than that. More like understanding. He spent less time at the house, but it had gotten to a point where the kids or I noticed. That part used to scare me when I first realized it. The kids stopped asking when their daddy was coming home. Eventually, even that settled into something calmer.
We went on about our days. Julise’s behavior had started to change for the better, and therapy had done me good through my healing process. I found myself breathing easier and thinking clearer lately. I just couldn't help thinking that he no longer had a place in our everyday life like he once did. And I was okay with that. That realization had taken time. Years maybe. But once it settled in my chest, it didn't feel like anger. I had already grieved this version of my marriage; I just hadn't said it out loud yet. I wasn't upset or angry; I was happy with the place I was in in my life.
The road opened into a long stretch of highway, and I eased the car forward, letting it coast a little faster now. The tires hummed against the pavement in that steady way that always made the morning feel quieter than it really was. The world had a rhythm at that hour: commuters, school buses, delivery trucks, and, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was just another person moving through it instead of someone bracing for the next storm. "The thought is still there, nothing final yet though." I finally responded to her. My voice came out calmer than the conversation probably deserved. Two weeks ago, I had called Chiana, sounding like a woman standing on the edge of something she couldn't quite see yet. Now it felt different. Not lighter exactly, just clearer. Like a fog had lifted enough for me to recognize the shape of the road in front of me.
"Whatever you decide, I'm with you. You deserve to be happy, whether that's married or divorced. We gon celebrate whatever decision you make." She said to me. I smiled faintly at that, even though she couldn't see it. Chiana always had that way about her. She didn't push, didn't judge, didn't try to steer you in one direction or the other. She just stood beside you and made sure you didn't fall.
The house came into view as I turned onto our street. I stopped at the mailbox, pulling out a rectangular box that just fit inside and a few sales ads. The cardboard was plain. No logo. No markings except the label. I threw them in the passenger seat, pulling up the driveway. Me and Chiana talked for about fifteen more minutes before we ended the call. I looked over the box before setting my phone on the counter. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. It didn't have a return address, but it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. St. Jean. That alone made me pause. Nobody really mailed us things anymore unless it was official. Bills, documents, and invitations. Everything else came through a text message or an email.
The cardboard felt light when I picked it up. I slid a finger under the tape and peeled it off. Inside the box, there was a folded-up letter, but that wasn't what had my attention. It was the pictures inside with it. For a second, my mind didn't register what I was looking at. They were glossy. Printed. Dated in the corner. Different angles. Different rooms. Different days. Jade and Jules fucking. The images moved slowly through my mind, like something thick pushing its way through water.
I stood there. My fingers held the edges of the paper carefully, the way you hold photographs when you don't want to leave fingerprints on them. My eyes moved across the images. There was a strange kind of distance in the way my brain processed it. I noticed things the way a person might notice details in someone else's life. The color of the sheets. The lamp on the nightstand. The way Jules' shoulders looked in the low lighting. How relaxed his face was.
I picked the letter up and unfolded it. The paper crackled softly in the quiet kitchen.
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
Funny how life works like that. Some people spend their whole lives trying to be the "good woman." The loyal one. The wife. The one sitting at home believing love is enough to keep a man where he belongs.
And then there are women like me.
Women who understand men better than their wives ever will. Before you get angry, before you tear this letter up or try to convince yourself that none of this matters, just know one thing: I didn't go out of this world without making sure you knew the truth.
You probably already guessed some of it. Women always do. That little feeling in your chest when a man comes home smelling like a different soap. The nights he doesn't quite look you in the eyes. The way his silence starts to stretch longer than his explanations.
You knew something was off. You just didn't know how right you were. I'm sure by now you've seen the pictures I left behind. The shots from videos too. I figured if I was going to leave this earth, I might as well leave something honest behind. Something real.
Not rumors.
Not whispers.
Proof.
While you were at home playing the role of wife, he was in my bed making promises he didn't even bother whispering to you anymore. Don't misunderstand me, though. This letter isn't about love. I wasn't stupid enough to believe a man like Jules was ever truly mine. Men like him don't belong to anyone.
But the difference between you and me?
I knew that. You built your life around him. I just enjoyed him. And that's where I got the last laugh. Because when a man is with a woman like you, he feels obligated. Expected. Managed.
When he was with me?
He was honest.
You probably think I'm bitter writing this. That I'm jealous or trying to hurt you from beyond the grave. Truth is, I'm not angry at you at all. If anything, I almost feel sorry for you. You loved him with your whole heart. You gave him children, a home, a name. And still he found his way to me.
That's the part that will sit with you long after this letter is gone. Not that he cheated. But that he chose to. More than once. More than you'll ever know. You'll probably try to convince yourself it didn't mean anything. That it was just sex, just a mistake, just a moment of weakness. Maybe that's what you need to believe to sleep at night.
But I saw the version of him he never brought home to you. The one that laughed without thinking about consequences. The one that stayed up all night talking about things he never said out loud in that big house of yours. The one that looked at me like I wasn't tied to all the expectations that came with loving him.
So yes, if you're reading this, I'm dead. But I wouldn't go out without letting you know something. I will always have one up on you. Because while you spent years trying to keep him, I had him without even trying.