The roast was growing cold.
Finally, he said, “You’re enjoying this.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
And I meant it.
“This is the worst week of my life.”
“Then why are you so calm?”
“Because if I start screaming, I’ll give you something to focus on besides what you did.”
He looked away.
That was our last family Sunday dinner.
Neither divorce happened overnight.
There were lawyers, accounts to settle, furniture to divide, and arguments over money.
Daniel moved out because he couldn’t bear staying in the apartment he’d shared with Jenna.
Mark eventually rented another place.
The consequences were quieter than any elaborate revenge.
And worse.
Mark lost his marriage.
Daniel stopped speaking to him.
Our daughter, Amy, who lived out of state, learned what had happened and told her father she needed distance.
Jenna lost Daniel and the family she’d spent years becoming part of.
