My Husband Told Me His “Work Wife” Was An Upgrade. Then I Found Out He Was Paying Her Rent While Telling Me To Budget. How Should I Handle This Dinner Invite?
Messy Doesn’t Mean Wrong
Laya listened and then said something that surprised me. She said, “Messy doesn’t mean wrong.”
I was fighting for fair treatment and financial security, not trying to punish Craig. The fact that he was making it difficult said more about him than about me.
I picked at my food and said it didn’t feel that simple. Laya shook her head and reminded me why I’d started this whole process. Because Craig had disrespected me for months. Because he’d built an inappropriate relationship with Jessica and dismissed my concerns. Because he’d called me inferior to another woman.
She said I deserved someone who valued me and respected me even when I wasn’t in the room. Craig had proven he wasn’t that person. Fighting for a fair divorce settlement wasn’t vindictive, it was self-respect.
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. Laya was right. I wasn’t the one making this difficult. Craig was fighting because he didn’t want to face the full consequences of his choices. I was just refusing to make it easy for him.
The Demotion
3 months after the confrontation dinner Ambrosia called with news about Craig’s job situation. His administrative leave had ended and the company had made their decision. He wasn’t fired like Jessica had feared during that dinner; instead he was demoted from his senior position and transferred to a different office location across town. It was a real consequence that would affect his earning potential and career trajectory.
I sat with that information for a while trying to figure out how I felt. Part of me felt satisfied that Craig faced professional consequences for violating company policy. He’d co-signed Jessica’s lease, driven her to work daily, covered her expenses, and shared intimate details about our marriage. Those weren’t just personal choices, they were policy violations.
But another part of me felt complicated about it. I’d filed that HR complaint knowing it could cost Craig his job. The demotion was better than firing but it was still a significant setback. I wondered if I’d been too harsh.
Then I remembered Craig saying Jessica was an upgrade and the guilt faded. He’d made choices knowing they violated policy. He’d prioritized his relationship with Jessica over his marriage and his career. I just documented what he chose to do.
Jessica’s Last Word
A Facebook message notification popped up on my phone while I was planning lessons at the school. It was from Jessica. I stared at her profile picture for a second before opening the message.
She’d written three paragraphs saying she hoped I was happy now that both their careers were damaged. That Craig had been demoted and transferred because of my complaint. That she’d been moved to a different department with a formal warning on her record. That I’d gotten my revenge and ruined two lives.
I read it twice and then closed the app without responding. Jessica was still refusing to take responsibility for her own choices. She could have said no when Craig offered to cosign her lease. She could have maintained professional boundaries instead of accepting daily rides and free lunches. She could have not called herself Craig’s work wife in front of me at the company picnic.
Every choice she made had led to these consequences. I didn’t force her to build a financially dependent relationship with a married man. I just reported what she chose to do.
The message bothered me for the rest of the day anyway. Not because I felt guilty but because Jessica genuinely seemed to believe she was a victim in all this. That Craig’s wife documenting their inappropriate relationship was somehow worse than the relationship itself.
I thought about responding and explaining that professional boundaries exist for a reason, that accepting financial support from a senior colleague creates exactly this kind of problem. But I deleted the message instead. Jessica wasn’t going to hear anything I had to say.
