Divorce After Betrayal

My gaze lingered numbly on a family of three not far away. Perhaps sensing my stare, Phillip Daniels glanced up towards me and then quickly averted his eyes. I forced a small smile, filled with self-mockery.

Like a moth to a flame, I kept my eyes fixed on them, as if trying to etch this scene into my mind forever. As I watched, my phone buzzed with a message from Phillip.

[I’ll explain today’s situation when I get back. It’s Jackson’s birthday today. Please don’t make a scene, alright? Just come home and be sensible, okay?]

A wave of nausea hit me like a punch to the gut. I gripped my phone tightly, unable to bring myself to respond. Phillip glanced at me, then put his phone back in his pocket, feigning normalcy as he continued to play with his son.

All the guests were family, and I couldn't blow things up in front of so many people, or it would be my parents facing the gossip.

Cecelia Fisher, looking slightly worn out, came over and sat down across from me, while Phillip poured iced coffee from his thermos and handed it to her.

"Iced coffee again? It's scorching today; I’d prefer something hot," she pouted, inching closer to Phillip. "Just a little bit, alright?"

It was as if she was performing for my benefit. Phillip glanced at me and then lowered his head, his voice gentle. “No, you have the baby to think of; you shouldn’t drink hot things.”

Denied, Cecelia didn’t get upset, just said regretfully, “Alright then.”

I stayed silent, holding back the resentment boiling inside me. Seven years with Phillip, and I never knew he had this side—gentle, caring, eyes full of affection. I had never seen him look at me this way.

I met Phillip at work; he was my boss, and I was his intern assistant. My genuine affection for him began at a work event when a client became too pushy, trying to touch my leg until Phillip stepped in.

He raised his glass, smiling apologetically at the client. “Mr. Walsh, let me join you tonight. Please spare my assistant.”

That night, Phillip drank half a bottle of whiskey and vomited as soon as we left the hotel. I still remember what he said to me then: “In the business world, you need to stay sharp.”

He taught me how to navigate tricky social situations, how to tailor my words to my audience. My success today owes much to Phillip. After I left and joined a new company, I encountered Phillip again—this time as a client. Our paths crossed more frequently, and he pursued me. Within two months, we were married.

I thought he loved me. Reality, however, hit hard.

“Jemma,” Cecelia suddenly spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts. She propped her chin and smiled, “I heard from your mom you’re married too. Why didn’t you bring your husband? He might enjoy chatting and having a drink with your cousin-in-law.”

Vivienne Aguilar happened to overhear as she walked by. She looked at me, surprised. “Jemma, you’re married?”

“When did you get married? How come none of us knew?”

I instinctively looked at Phillip, then Cecelia, and forced a sarcastic smile. “Yes, married.”

“But he’s dead.”

Vivienne seemed taken aback, realizing she had misspoke and awkwardly tried to comfort me. “Well, if he’s passed, you can always remarry.”

I chuckled, “Sure.”

Phillip’s face was dark, but I chose to ignore it. Cecelia stared directly at me, holding Phillip’s hand. “You haven’t changed, quite the joker.”

“Isn’t that right, Phillip?”

Phillip didn’t even look at me, gently caressing her head. “I don’t care about anyone else. These things have nothing to do with me.”

My heart was gripped fiercely, as if by an iron fist. I faced Cecelia, speaking loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Right! I do joke around. Like joking that you’re the mistress, right? I bet nobody knows.”

The room went silent. Relatives' eyes darted between us, and I smiled at her. Cecelia’s eyes widened, tears brimming.

“Jemma, I just asked a little; there’s no need to be so harsh. My husband is right here; how could you say that?”

I forced my emotions down, “Cecelia, why the big reaction? I was just joking. Or did I hit the nail on the head?”

Phillip glared icily at me. “Jemma, if you keep defaming my partner, I’ll be contacting my lawyer.”

Facing his gaze, the one who used to love me held nothing but cold indifference now.

Cecelia’s mother, Samara Bishop, was the first to react, berating me: “Jemma, you’re out of line. Cecelia is your cousin. How can you speak that way?”

“I’m calling your mother to ask how she raised you.”

I turned to her with a smile. “Aunt Samara, I was just joking.”

Then, I looked at Cecelia once more. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Phillip spoke coldly, “Jemma, you’re not welcome here.”

“Please leave.”

Relatives whispered among themselves, their words filled with blame for me. My heartache made it hard to breathe.

Phillip simply helped Cecelia to her feet and left without hesitation. His son, seeing his mother upset, pointed a water gun at me without a second thought.

“Bad woman! Bully my mom, will you? Get out of here! Daddy said you’re not welcome!”

“Leave!”

My meticulously done makeup and styled hair were ruined, my clothes soaked through, leaving me utterly disheveled.

I was dragged away by Cecelia’s mother. “Get back to your house.”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Go home and have your mother teach you some manners.”