After My Husband Nearly Died for His Mistress’s Cat

Damien came home two days later.

I picked him up at noon. He walked slowly from the hospital entrance to the car, still moving like his lungs were tender. I opened the passenger door for him. He slid in without meeting my eyes.

The drive back to our apartment was quiet. I didn't ask how he felt. He didn't thank me for coming.

When we got inside, I had everything ready. His prescriptions were lined up on the kitchen counter with a glass of water. I'd picked up his dry cleaning. The mail was sorted. There was fresh coffee in the pot.

Damien looked around. His shoulders relaxed a little. He poured himself a cup and sat down at the table.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

I nodded. I didn't smile. I didn't frown. I just moved through the apartment like I always did, putting things away, wiping down the counters, checking my phone.

He watched me for a minute. Then he said, "I know you were upset at the hospital."

I kept my back to him. "You almost died."

"I know." His voice went softer. Apologetic. "But Luciana was a mess. She needed help. I couldn't just leave her."

I turned around. Looked at him. "You could have."

He blinked. "What?"

"You could have left her. You could have stayed home. You could have told her to call animal control or a neighbor or anyone else." I kept my voice even. Calm. "But you didn't."

He set his coffee down. "Claire, she's my oldest friend. You know that."

"I know."

He waited for me to say more. When I didn't, he stood up and crossed the kitchen. He reached for my hand. I let him take it.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said. "But I'm okay now. We're okay."

I looked down at our hands. His fingers were warm. Familiar.

I pulled away gently. "I made a reservation at Marea for tomorrow night. Seven o'clock."

His face brightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smiled. Relieved. Like everything had been smoothed over. Like I'd forgiven him just by making a dinner reservation.

Maybe I had.

Maybe that's what he thought.

---

The next forty-eight hours passed like normal. Damien went back to work. I went to the office. We ate breakfast together. We talked about his meetings and my calls and what to do about the kitchen backsplash we'd been debating for months.

He thought I was fine.

He thought we were fine.

On the third night, I was in the hallway outside his study when I heard his voice through the door. Low. Warm. The tone he used to use with me.

"I know," he was saying. "I know you feel bad. But it's not your fault."

Silence. He was on the phone.

"Claire didn't mean to be cold," he continued. "That's just how she is. She doesn't understand how close we are. She never has."

I pressed my palm flat against the wall. Held it there.

"I'll always be here for you," Damien said. "You know that. No matter what."

I stood there for exactly sixty seconds. I counted them.

One.

Two.

Three.

All the way to sixty.

Then I walked down the hall to my home office, stepped inside, and closed the door quietly behind me.

I sat down at my desk. Opened my laptop. Pulled up my contacts.

Julian Hayes answered on the second ring.

"Claire," he said. His voice was surprised. We hadn't spoken in months. "Everything okay?"

"I need a full audit," I said.

He paused. "Of what?"

"All joint accounts. All personal accounts under Damien's name. Every transfer for the past three years. I want to know where the money went. Every dollar."

Another pause. Longer this time. "Claire, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay." His voice shifted. Professional now. "I'll start tonight. I'll have preliminary findings by Friday."

"Good."

I hung up.

Then I scrolled down to the next name.

Victoria Vance.

She picked up on the first ring. "Claire Hernandez. It's been a while."

"I need you on retainer," I said.

"What's the situation?"

"Fraud-based asset dissipation. Marital funds transferred without my knowledge or consent. I want a full framework for divorce proceedings. I want every option on the table."

Victoria didn't ask questions. She never did. That's why I called her.

"I'll send the retainer agreement tonight," she said. "We'll schedule a meeting for Monday."

"Thank you."

The call lasted eleven minutes. I didn't take notes. I didn't need to.

When I hung up, I sat there for a moment. The apartment was quiet. Damien was still in his study, probably still on the phone with Luciana, probably still reassuring her that everything was fine.

I stood up. Smoothed my sweater. Walked back to the kitchen.

Damien came out a few minutes later. He looked relaxed. Happy, even.

I poured him a fresh cup of coffee and set it on the counter.

"Thanks, babe," he said.

I nodded.

He kissed my cheek and sat down with his laptop.

I stood at the sink and looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline. The lights were just starting to come on. The city glowed in the dusk.

I didn't say a word.

I didn't need to.

I'd already made my decision.