Messages deleted at strange hours.
A receipt for earrings I never received.
Eventually Mason admitted there was “someone.”
He wouldn’t tell me much else.
“She understands where I’m going in life,” he said.
I remember sitting across from him thinking that seven years of marriage apparently weighed less than a woman who understood his five-year career plan.
Six months later, our divorce was final.
Mason told mutual friends we’d simply “grown apart.”
He conveniently left out the cheating.
He told people I had struggled with his success.
He said I had become insecure.
For a long time, I wanted to chase down every person who heard his version and tell them the truth.
Eventually, I realized something.
People like Mason survive by controlling the story.
The only way to win is to stop auditioning for a role in it.
So I rebuilt my life.
I moved apartments.
I took a better position at a publishing house.
