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?

Packing Up

He explained the investigation would take 2 to 3 weeks, that both Craig and Jessica would be interviewed separately, that I might need to answer follow-up questions. I nodded and signed the formal complaint form, my hand steady even though my heart was racing. When I left his office the envelope stayed behind on his desk and I knew I just made everything real in a way that couldn’t be undone.

I spent 3 days at Laya’s place before going back to the house for more of my things. Craig’s car sat in the driveway when I pulled up, which meant he’d taken time off work or was working from home. I grabbed empty boxes from my trunk and let myself in through the front door, heading straight for the bedroom without calling out to him.

My hands moved quickly through the closet pulling clothes off hangers and folding them into boxes while my heart hammered against my ribs. I heard his footsteps on the stairs before I saw him, heavy and deliberate, and when he appeared in the doorway his face was red with anger instead of the apology I’d half expected.

He blocked the exit with his body and started yelling about how I was ruining his life over a friendship. How Jessica was just a coworker and I was blowing everything out of proportion. I kept folding clothes while he talked, not looking at him, letting his words wash over me without response.

He got louder when I didn’t react, accusing me of filing false reports with HR and trying to get them both fired out of spite. I finally stopped packing and turned to face him, my voice calm and steady when I pointed out that if Jessica was just a friend he wouldn’t have told her about my miscarriage or our mortgage or every argument we’d ever had.

Two Weeks Notice

He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out, his face going from red to pale as my words sank in. I went back to packing while he stood there in silence. Then he tried a completely different approach, his voice suddenly soft and apologetic. He said he was drunk and stupid at the Christmas party, that he didn’t mean any of the things he said about Jessica being an upgrade.

I pulled open my dresser drawer and started removing clothes without looking at him, asking about the other 364 days of the year when he came home talking about Jessica constantly. I asked about all the times I’d told him I was uncomfortable with their relationship and he’d called me insecure and told me to stop overreacting. I asked about the months of dismissing my feelings and making me think I was crazy for being bothered by his work wife.

He had no real answer, just more excuses about work stress and how Jessica was easy to talk to because she understood his professional life. I taped up the box I’d filled and started on another one, telling him that his excuses didn’t change what he’d done or how he’d made me feel for months.

He followed me around the bedroom while I packed, trying different angles and approaches, but I kept my responses short and focused on getting my things together. By the time I’d filled four boxes with clothes and personal items he’d gone quiet again, just watching me with this wounded expression like I was the villain in our story.

I loaded the boxes into my car while Craig stood in the doorway watching, then went back inside for one more trip. He was sitting on the couch when I came back down with my laptop and some books, his head in his hands, but I walked past him without stopping. Before I left I turned around and told him he had two weeks to decide if he wanted to contest the divorce or accept the settlement terms, and that the HR investigation would continue no matter what he chose.