Chapter 4 - The Audacity of the Ex
Just as my life was reaching a crescendo of success, the past tried to drag itself back in.
I was at the hotel construction site on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, wearing a hard hat and pointing out wiring placement to an electrician, when my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.
“Lauren, it’s James. Can we please talk? I messed up. So badly.”
I stared at the screen, a burst of incredulous laughter escaping my lips. I didn't reply. But James was desperate. Over the next week, the texts poured in, painting a pathetic picture of his downfall.
Rachel had left him. Apparently, the romance of sleeping on an air mattress and eating takeout on the floor of a 1980s time-capsule wore off after four months. She had cheated on him with a younger guy from their gym who actually owned real furniture. Karma, it seemed, was not just a concept, but a highly efficient delivery service.
Furthermore, James had tried to take out a second mortgage on the house to pay off his mounting credit card debts, only to find out that without the extensive cosmetic upgrades I had provided, the house appraised for significantly less than he anticipated. He was trapped in a depreciating beige box of his own making.
He cornered me outside my office building one evening. He looked terrible—he had gained weight, his suit was rumpled, and the smug arrogance that used to define his features was replaced by hollow desperation.
"Lauren, please," he begged, stepping in front of my car door. "I was an idiot. Rachel meant nothing. I miss you. I miss our life. We can put it back together."
I looked at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger, no sadness, just a clinical detachment.
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"James, you don't miss me," I said, my voice steady and cold. "You miss the lifestyle I provided. You miss the beautiful house, the cooked dinners, and the status of having a wife who made you look better than you actually are. You wanted the house, James. You have it. But you can never have the woman who made it a home."
I got into my car and locked the doors, leaving him standing on the wet pavement. I drove away and didn't look in the rearview mirror once.
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