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?

Sanctuary at Laya’s

Their alliance was breaking apart right there in my living room, all the casual intimacy they’d built crumbling under actual consequences. I pulled out my phone and texted Laya asking if I could stay at her place tomorrow because I needed space to think. She responded immediately with her address and told me to come whenever I was ready.

Morning came with Craig knocking on the guest bedroom door before I’d even gotten dressed for work. His voice filtered through the wood, softer now, saying we needed to talk. I opened the door still in my pajamas, arms crossed, waiting for whatever script he’d rehearsed overnight.

He said we could fix this, that Jessica meant nothing—exactly the words I’d expected to hear. His face looked tired like he hadn’t slept, and part of me felt satisfied that he’d spent the night uncomfortable while I’d locked myself away.

I told him I was staying at Laya’s for a few days, that he needed to decide what he actually wanted because I was done being dismissed and disrespected. He reached for my arm but I stepped back, telling him not to touch me right now. His hand dropped and he nodded, looking smaller somehow in the morning light.

I grabbed my work bag and left without breakfast, pulling out of the driveway while he stood in the doorway watching me go. My phone buzzed three times before I even made it to the school. Jessica’s text came through one after another, each message more desperate than the last.

The first one asked if I was really going to file the HR complaint. The second one said she was sorry if she’d misunderstood the situation. The third one begged me to call her so we could talk about this like adults.

The Realization

I deleted all three without responding, focusing on the kindergarten classroom waiting for me where fingerpaint and story time had nothing to do with work wives or emotional affairs. The kids didn’t care that my marriage was falling apart; they just wanted to show me their drawings and tell me about their weekend adventures.

Laya’s apartment smelled like vanilla candles and the lasagna she’d made for dinner. She opened the door and pulled me into a hug before I’d even set down my overnight bag. We ate on her couch with plates balanced on our knees.

Somewhere between the second and third glass of wine, I started crying. Not the quiet tears I’d held back all day, but ugly gasping sobs that made my whole body shake. Eight years of marriage ending this way because Craig decided Jessica understood spreadsheets better than I understood him.

Laya held me while I cried, rubbing circles on my back like I did for my kindergarten students when they scraped their knees at recess. She reminded me that I didn’t cause this, that Craig’s choices and Jessica’s willing participation created this situation.

When I finally stopped crying enough to breathe normally, she asked the hard question I’d been avoiding: did I actually want the divorce or was I just trying to scare them into understanding consequences?

The next two days blurred together in Laya’s spare bedroom, sleeping late and thinking about what I actually wanted instead of what Craig deserved. The truth sat heavy in my chest every time I tried to imagine going back to normal.

Proceeding with Filings

I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him again after hearing him call me too serious, after learning he told Jessica I didn’t understand his real personality. Laya helped me see what I’d been trying not to admit: even if Craig ended things with Jessica completely, the fundamental disrespect he’d shown me revealed how he really felt about our marriage.

He’d spent months making me feel crazy for being uncomfortable, dismissing my concerns while building emotional intimacy with someone else. That didn’t just go away because he got caught and panicked about consequences.

Craig called six times the first day, nine times the second day, each call going straight to voicemail. I let him sit with the uncertainty the same way he’d made me feel insecure for months while Jessica’s name came up constantly in conversation.

On the third day, Ambrosia called from her office. Her voice was professional and calm, telling me Craig had contacted her asking about the divorce papers and whether I was serious. I told her I needed a few more days to decide but to proceed with initial filings anyway to show Craig I wasn’t bluffing.

She said she’d handle it and reminded me not to communicate directly with Craig while we figured out next steps. After we hung up I felt both relieved and terrified, like I just jumped off something tall without checking how far down the ground was.