…”the doctor told me last week that I can’t have children. I’ve known since my thirties. My wife has known too.”
Jessica was his wife. Victor Lang, the man who had put four million dollars into my husband’s company, had been married to my husband’s assistant for two years. I knew because the private investigator I’d hired three months earlier had shown me their marriage certificate. That was the only reason I’d asked my question in front of everyone.
Gordon turned an ugly shade of red. Everyone at the table did the math at the same time. If Victor couldn’t be the father, then the father was sitting next to Jessica with his hand still on her knee.
Gordon jerked his hand away. “This is a misunderstanding,” he said. “Victor, let’s talk privately.”
“There’s nothing to misunderstand,” I said calmly. “Although there is one more thing I should mention, since we’re being honest tonight. Gordon had a vasectomy twenty-two years ago, after our youngest was born. I drove him to the appointment. I held the ice pack.”
For a long second nobody breathed. Jessica sat down very slowly. Gordon stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then his business partner, Craig, who had been very quiet all evening, stood up, muttered something about the restroom and walked straight out the front door of the restaurant. He didn’t come back.
Victor watched him go. Then he picked up his napkin, folded it neatly and set it on his plate. “Gordon, my lawyers will contact you Monday about the funding agreement. There is a morals clause. I wrote it myself.” He turned to his wife. “You can get your things from the house tomorrow. The locks change at noon.”
I finished my wine. I had prepared for this night for three months. I had copies of the company documents showing I’d co-signed the original business loan in 2001 and owned forty-nine percent of the shares, a fact Gordon had conveniently forgotten. My lawyer had already drafted the divorce petition. All it needed was a date.
“Happy anniversary, Gordon,” I said, and I left him the bill.
The divorce took nine months. Without Victor’s money, the company had to be sold, and my forty-nine percent came to more than I ever imagined. Gordon ended up renting a one-bedroom apartment. Craig and Jessica moved to another state together, and I’m told it’s not going well.
Victor sent me flowers after everything was finalized, with a card that said, “Thank you for the toast.” I bought a small house near the water and finally took the painting classes I’d been postponing for twenty-six years. My children helped me move in. Nobody asked me to cook.
