At 3:00 AM my husband’s mistress sent me a photo to destroy me, but I forwarded it to the whole Board of Directors of his company At exactly 3:07 a.m., my phone vibrated across the marble nightstand.

But Vanessa’s smile was the worst part.

Not because she looked beautiful.

Because she looked victorious.

She sent that photo expecting me to cry.

To break.

To beg my husband to come home.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then I laughed.

Not hysterically.

Not loudly.