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?
Settlement
The second mediation session happened 2 weeks later. Craig and I were both quieter this time, worn down from fighting. His lawyer suggested we focus on areas where we might find agreement.
We went through the list of assets again. The house still needed to be resolved but we agreed to sell it and split the money. The retirement accounts would be divided according to standard formulas that Ambrosia and Craig’s lawyer had researched. Our bank accounts would be separated with each of us keeping what was currently in our individual accounts.
Craig asked about some furniture that had belonged to his grandmother, a dining table and chairs that we’d kept in storage because they didn’t fit our house. I agreed he could have them. He looked surprised and said “Thank you” quietly. His lawyer asked about a few other items with sentimental value and I agreed to most of them. I didn’t want to fight over every lamp and chair.
The mediator seemed relieved that we were making progress. She scheduled another session for the following month to finalize remaining details.
Craig and I walked out of the building at the same time. We stood in the parking lot for an awkward moment. He started to say something but stopped. I waited but he just shook his head and walked to his car.
I watched him drive away and felt sad about how we’d ended up here. Two people who’d promised to spend their lives together now couldn’t even have a conversation in a parking lot.
Apartment Hunting
I started scrolling through apartment listings on my phone during my lunch break watching the prices and square footage blur together into depressing numbers. Everything in my budget looked small and far from the school where I taught. Studios with kitchenettes barely bigger than my current pantry. One bedrooms and buildings with peeling paint and reviews mentioning roaches.
The reality of starting over financially hit me hard as I calculated what I could actually afford on a kindergarten teacher’s salary. Without Craig’s income I’d be living in a smaller space, watching my money more carefully, rebuilding a life I thought was settled 8 years ago.
My therapist’s voice played in my head from our last session reminding me that I was also gaining freedom from a relationship where I wasn’t respected. That freedom felt abstract compared to the concrete problem of finding somewhere to live that didn’t require me to choose between paying rent and eating. I bookmarked three apartments that seemed okay and closed the app before I could spiral further into panic about my shrinking budget.
The next day at the school one of the other kindergarten teachers asked why I was looking at apartments. She’d noticed me scrolling through listings during recess duty while the kids played on the swings. I gave a vague answer about divorce, keeping my voice neutral because I didn’t want to get into details about work wives and emotional affairs.
She nodded and told me she’d gone through something similar 5 years ago, leaving a marriage where she felt invisible and unappreciated. She said it was the best decision she ever made even though the first year was hard financially and emotionally. Hearing that someone came out better on the other side gave me hope that this pain wasn’t permanent. That someday I’d look back and feel grateful I left instead of staying with someone who compared me unfavorably to his coworker.
She offered to help me move when the time came and I thanked her, surprised by how much that small offer of practical support meant.
The Coffee Shop Apology
Craig called me directly that evening instead of going through our lawyers, his number showing up on my phone after weeks of communicating only through Ambrosia. I stared at the screen for three rings before answering, already knowing I was making a mistake. He asked if we could talk in person, his voice careful and measured in a way that made him sound like a stranger.
Against my better judgment and definitely against Ambrosia’s advice from our last meeting, I agreed to meet him at a coffee shop halfway between his new apartment and Laya’s place. I told myself I could handle one conversation without falling apart or changing my mind about the divorce.
The coffee shop was neutral territory, public enough that neither of us could make a scene. When I arrived Craig was already sitting at a corner table with two cups of coffee, one pushed across to my usual seat. He looked different, older and more tired, with lines around his eyes I didn’t remember being so deep. I wondered if I looked the same way, marked by months of fighting and paperwork and sleepless nights processing the end of everything we’d built together.
Craig started talking before I even sat down fully, telling me he’d been in therapy for the past 6 weeks. His therapist was helping him understand what he did wrong, how he’d built an inappropriate relationship with Jessica and dismissed my feelings repeatedly. He acknowledged that he’d disrespected me in ways that violated our marriage, sharing intimate details with someone else while making me feel crazy for being uncomfortable.
The words sounded rehearsed like he’d practiced this speech multiple times before meeting me. I appreciated hearing him take responsibility but the apology felt too late, like he only understood the damage now that he was facing real consequences.
