Jennifer's POV
"I want to open our marriage."
The words hit me before I even sit down. I'm still holding my purse, still standing by the table at Le Bernardin—our restaurant, where Richard proposed three years ago. The waiter just pulled out my chair.
I freeze. "What?"
Richard sips his wine like he just asked about the weather. "Sit down, Jennifer. You're making a scene."
I'm not making a scene. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure everyone can hear it, but I sit because that's what I do. I'm good at being perfect. Good at smiling. Good at pretending everything is fine.
"What did you just say?" My voice sounds strange, like it's coming from underwater.
"I've been thinking about this for months." Richard leans back in his chair, completely relaxed. Like we're discussing vacation plans. "Our marriage is strong enough to handle it. We love each other, but we're young. We should experience life."
My hands are shaking. I put them in my lap so he won't see. "Experience life? Richard, we're married. We made vows."
"And we'll still be married." He smiles. It's the same smile that made me fall in love with him five years ago. Now it looks like a mask. "This is sophisticated, Jennifer. Modern couples do this all the time. It doesn't mean I love you less."
The restaurant is full of people eating expensive food, laughing, celebrating. I wore the green dress Richard bought me for Christmas. I curled my hair the way he likes. I thought tonight would fix us. I thought maybe if I tried harder, smiled more, was prettier, he'd look at me the way he used to.
But he's not even looking at me now. He's checking his phone.
"When did you decide this?" I ask. My throat feels tight.
"Like I said, I've been thinking about it for a while." He finally puts his phone down. "You've seemed distant lately. I thought this might help us."
Distant? I've been distant because he works late every night. Because he stopped touching me months ago. Because every time I try to talk to him, he says he's too tired.
And now he's blaming me for it.
"I don't understand." My voice breaks. I hate that it breaks. "If something's wrong, we should fix it together. We should try counseling or—"
"I don't need counseling." Richard's voice gets harder. "I need freedom. And honestly, Jennifer, so do you. You've been so clingy lately. It's exhausting."
The word hits me like a slap. Clingy. Because I wanted to spend time with my husband. Because I tried to save our marriage.
"Who is she?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
Richard's face changes. Just for a second, I see something—guilt? Fear? Then it's gone, replaced by that smooth smile.
"There's no 'she,' Jennifer. This isn't about anyone else. This is about us having the freedom to explore."
He's lying. I can feel it in my bones. Three years of marriage taught me how to read him, even when I didn't want to.
"Tell me the truth." My hands are fists now under the table. "Have you already met someone?"
The silence stretches too long.
"Richard."
He sighs like I'm annoying him. "Fine. Yes. I've met someone. But that's not why I want this. I was going to tell you, but then I realized—why should either of us be limited? We can both see other people. It's fair."
The room spins. I grip the edge of the table.
"Who?" I whisper.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes!"
"Amanda." He says her name so casually. "Actually, I thought you knew."
Amanda. My college roommate. My friend for seven years. The woman who was my maid of honor. The woman I called last month when I was crying because Richard and I hadn't had a real conversation in weeks.
The woman who told me I was overreacting. That all marriages go through rough patches. That I should just give him space.
She was sleeping with my husband the whole time.
"How long?" My voice doesn't sound like mine anymore.
"Does it really matter, Jennifer? The point is—"
"How. Long."
Richard's jaw tightens. He doesn't like when I interrupt him. When I'm not the sweet, agreeable wife.
"Six months. Maybe seven."
Seven months. Almost since our second anniversary.
I stand up. My legs feel like water but I stand anyway.
"Where are you going?" Richard looks annoyed, not sorry. Not guilty. Just annoyed that I'm ruining his plan.
"I need air."
"Jennifer, sit down. We need to discuss this like adults."
"Adults?" I laugh, and it sounds bitter. "Adults don't cheat for seven months and then call it 'opening the marriage.'"
People at nearby tables are starting to stare. Richard's face goes red.
"Lower your voice," he hisses. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"I'm embarrassing myself?" The rage comes from nowhere and everywhere. "You're sleeping with my best friend!"
"Ex-best friend, I assume," Richard says coldly. "And yes, you're making a scene. This is why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd be dramatic."
Dramatic. Clingy. Embarrassing.
Every word is designed to make me small. To make me the problem.
I grab my purse. "I want a divorce."
For the first time tonight, Richard looks surprised. "What?"
"You heard me." My whole body is shaking but my voice is steady. "I want a divorce. Tomorrow, I'm calling a lawyer."
"Jennifer, don't be stupid." He stands too, reaching for my arm. "You're upset. Let's talk about this."
I pull away from him. "Don't touch me."
"You're overreacting. If you'd just listen—"
"I'm done listening." I step back. "I'm done being your perfect little wife while you destroy me. We're done."
I turn and walk toward the exit. Every eye in the restaurant is on me. I don't care. I need to get out before I fall apart.
Richard doesn't follow me.
Outside, the cold air hits my face. I stand on the sidewalk, gasping, trying to remember how to breathe.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.
I almost don't open it. But something makes me look.
It's a photo. Richard and Amanda, kissing. Not a secret kiss. A public kiss on a beach somewhere sunny. Her hand is on his chest. He's smiling.
There's a date stamp: four months ago.
Below the photo, a message: Thought you should know what everyone else already does. Check Instagram. SorryNotSorry
My fingers are numb as I open Instagram. I search Amanda's name.
Her profile is public. Full of photos I've never seen because I trusted her. Trusted both of them.
There are dozens. Richard and Amanda at restaurants. At parties. On weekend trips. All posted publicly while I was home alone, thinking my husband was working late.
The comments are worse.
Cutest couple!
Finally making it official?
About time he upgraded
Everyone knew. Everyone saw. The whole world watched my husband fall in love with my best friend while I was the only idiot who didn't know.
My phone rings. Jason, my brother.
"Jen, what the hell?" His voice is tight. "Someone just sent me photos of Richard and Amanda. Tell me this is fake."
"It's real." My voice sounds dead.
"Where are you?"
"I don't know." I look around. I'm standing outside the restaurant where my marriage just ended. "I just... I need to go."
"Jennifer, wait—"
I hang up. I start walking. I don't know where I'm going but I need to move.
My phone buzzes again. And again. And again.
Messages from people I haven't talked to in months.
OMG did you see the photos?
Are you okay?
I always knew he was trash
Did you really not know?
That last one makes me stop walking.
Did I really not know? Or did I know and choose not to see it? Did I ignore every sign because I was so desperate to keep my perfect marriage, my perfect life?
I lean against a building, and that's when I finally let myself feel it.
The humiliation. The betrayal. The rage.
My husband doesn't love me. Maybe he never did.
My best friend stabbed me in the back.
And everyone knew except me.
I thought tonight was our anniversary dinner. A chance to reconnect.
It was an ambush.
My phone rings again. This time it's Richard.
I answer.
"Jennifer, you left your credit card," he says, like that's the problem. Like that's what matters. "And I need you to come back so we can finish discussing this. You're being childish."
"Discussing?" I laugh. It sounds hollow. "What's left to discuss, Richard? You want an open marriage. I want a divorce. Seems pretty clear."
"You don't mean that." His voice changes, gets softer. It's the voice he uses when he wants something. "Baby, I love you. This isn't about love. It's about being realistic. We're young. We shouldn't limit ourselves."
"Stop." I close my eyes. "Just stop lying."
"I'm not—"
"You've been cheating with Amanda for seven months. Everyone knows but me. You posted it on social media. You humiliated me in front of the entire world. And now you want me to agree to let you keep doing it?"
Silence.
Then: "If you divorce me, you'll regret it."
The threat in his voice makes my blood go cold.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I know things, Jennifer. About your family's company. About your finances. You think you'll just walk away clean? I'm entitled to half of everything. Including your precious trust fund from grandma."
My stomach drops. "You don't have rights to my inheritance."
"We're married. In New York, I have rights to everything acquired during the marriage. And I've been very careful about documenting every asset." He pauses. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to calm down, come home, and we're going to work this out like adults. Or I'm going to make sure this divorce ruins you."
He hangs up.
I stand there, phone in my shaking hand, and realize the truth.
Richard didn't marry me because he loved me.
He married me for my money. For my family's company. For access to the Morgan empire.
And he's been planning this. Maybe from the beginning.
My phone buzzes one more time. Another photo from that unknown number.
This one shows Richard and Amanda at what looks like a lawyer's office. The photo is dated two months ago.
The message below it says: He's been planning the divorce for a while. Thought you should know before he takes everything.
My heart stops.
Richard didn't ask for an open marriage tonight because he fell in love with someone else.
He asked because he wanted me to refuse. He wanted me to be the one to file for divorce. He wanted to look like the victim while he's been setting up to destroy me.
This was never about love.
This was always about the money.
And I just played right into his hands.