Forbidden Passion: My mother's boyfriend wants me

Camille

I hoped tonight would be different. That Tristan wasn’t coming home from another woman’s bed. 

My matching silk robe was draped over a black lace nightgown that hugged my full figure. A foolish part of me hoped that if he saw me like this, he’d at least find me desirable. My husband hadn’t touched me in months.

I poured myself a glass of wine while I waited for him. I’d barely filled the glass when the front door clicked open.

“You’re up,” he said, avoiding my gaze.

“I was waiting for you,” I said. “I was worried.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I assume you’ve had dinner out.”

“Yes.”

Just as I’d expected.

I watched as he loosened his tie and placed his car keys on the console without sparing me another glance, as though I wasn’t even there.

“So that’s it?” I asked. “ You’re not going to tell me where you’ve been?”

“I’m not in the mood for your interrogations tonight. I’m exhausted, Camille.”

“Camille, really?” 

“Stop with the drama. What does it matter if I address you by your name?”

“You could at least be a little more affectionate. I’m still your wife, Tristan.”

“I’ve had a long day, and the last thing I need is your whining.”

“Of course you’re exhausted after spending the evening with another woman. You practically reek of her perfume.”

“Get a grip, Camille!”

“I’ve been waiting for you. I even got dressed up for you,” I said, pulling my robe open. “Meanwhile, you were out sleeping with your lover.”

“That’s it? I don’t spark any passion in you anymore?”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why that is. Instead of standing here in that, expecting me to feel something I don’t.”

“Is it because I’ve gotten fat? Is that why you don’t look at me?”

“You said it yourself, not me.”

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He glanced at the screen, his eyes lingered for a moment before he picked it up. Then he grabbed a pillow. 

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“The guest room.”

“I guess being outside with her all evening wasn’t enough. She’s still calling you at night, knowing you’re home with your wife?”

“I just need some damn peace, Camille!” 

He yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

I found myself standing in front of the mirror, staring at the body my husband no longer seemed to desire. 

I slipped out of the silk robe and the lace nightgown. It hadn’t made a difference anyway. I suddenly felt ridiculous for putting them on in the first place. 

Then I poured myself another glass of wine. It was my only solace on nights like this. 

******

“Good morning, ma’am,” Corra, the maid, greeted with a warm smile.

“Morning. Has Tristan left already?”

“Yes, ma’am. He left quite early.” 

Of course he did.

“You can go ahead and serve breakfast,” I said. “And bring Kacy down too, she’s probably upstairs.”

Corra nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

 A few minutes later, Kacy, our little pup, came trotting in, tail wiggling, already expecting me to carry her. I scooped her up and settled her on my lap. 

My phone buzzed on the table. It was Naomi calling.

 “Hey, Naomi.”

“Hey Cam! I was thinking about you. What are you up to?”

“Just having breakfast. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m free today and thought we could have lunch, I barely get to see you these days.”

She was right, I hardly went out anymore. It was almost as though I’d shut everyone out.

“You know what? Let’s do it.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Say, 2 pm?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The hours flew by faster than I expected. I was almost finished getting ready when the door swung open.

I looked up to find Tristan standing by the doorway.

“It’s not like you to be home by this hour.”

“Why? So you can go out whenever you like?”

I frowned. “It’s a lunch date with Naomi. You know I’m always at home.”

“Where else would you be everyday? You don’t work.”

I folded my arms. “You stopped me from working, remember?”

“And you never lacked anything,” he said, like that was all that mattered.

I grabbed my bag. “I have to go. I don’t want to keep Naomi waiting.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Camille.”

“Tristan…”

“Sit down. We have to talk.”

Something about his tone made me stop reaching for the doorknob. I set my bag down and sat on the bed. 

He pulled out a folder and slid it across the bed toward me.

“What is this?”

“Read it.”

My hands weren’t as steady as I wanted them to be when I finally reached for it. I flipped it open, and the first thing I saw was his name, then mine, followed by the words I’d been expecting but wasn’t ready to face.

It read. “Petition for Divorce.”

“You want a divorce?”

“I think we both know this marriage hasn’t worked in a long time.”

“So this is it? How long have you been planning this?”

“This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. It’s evident we don’t work anymore.”

“You chose to stop fighting for us. You were the one who stepped outside of our marriage and I forgave you so many times.”

“Now is your chance to walk away. It can be that simple.”

“It sure is for you. How about the years I gave you? My best years? Before you became the man everyone sees now.”

“I should stay married to you for gratitude? Or guilt for leaving you.”

“Gratitude? Guilt? Is that what the last six years were to you? And the four years before we got married? That’s ten years of my life.”

He rubbed his temple, as if the conversation was draining him. “Camile…can you…”

“No. You don’t get to skip the question. I deserve an answer.”

“Things can be much easier if we end this marriage. Sign the papers, Camille.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll do it the hard way. Regardless, this marriage is over. Go through the divorce papers with your lawyers. There’s a good settlement agreement.”

He walked out, leaving the folder open on the table.

Everything was about money to him. He thought a settlement could give me everything I needed, but it would never give me back the years I gave him.