Ashes in Hand, Divorce in Tow

After I had the baby, I threw myself back into work—anything to dodge the mess of juggling a career and a newborn.

Grinding paid off. I snagged the top sales spot this year.

My boss threw a party to celebrate. Peggy, who'd only been with us a year, came in second, so naturally, the drinks kept coming for the two of us.

She tossed back the first like a champ, but when round two came, she hesitated. People egged her on, but she held her ground, smiling like she was half-embarrassed, half-thrilled.

"It's not that I don't wanna drink—my boyfriend's strict about that. I'm already pushing it with this one," she said, all bashful but glowing.

Cue the groans and playful teasing.

"Peggy, we're not buying it unless you call him. We wanna meet this mysterious guy!"

"Yeah! Danielle, if you're trying to skip drinks too, call your hubby. You two are always talking about your men, but they're like ghosts—we've never seen them!"

Eyes swung to me.

Before I could react, Peggy was already on her phone, her voice sugar-sweet.

"Babe, what are you up to?"

A low chuckle came through the speaker. "Honeybun, I'm working."

Everyone froze.

That voice? Unmistakable.

A coworker next to me grabbed my arm, whispering, "Danielle... isn't that Mr. Busch?"

I clenched my fist and said nothing.

Then Peggy giggled and stomped her foot like some giddy schoolgirl. "Gerard! I'm on speaker! Don't call me that in front of everyone—it's so embarrassing!"

Yeah. No more guessing.