My heart skipped. Stan never came home this early.
“Stan?” I called, wiping my hands. I stepped into the living room—and froze.
Stan was standing there with a woman. She was tall, sleek, and carried herself like she owned the room. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. The look between them was unmistakable.
“Well, darling,” she said smoothly, her eyes sweeping over me, “you weren’t exaggerating. She really let herself go. Such a shame—she’s got decent bone structure, though.”
Her words sliced through me like glass.
“Excuse me?” I stammered.
Stan sighed, like I was being dramatic. “Lauren, we need to talk. This is Miranda. And…I want a divorce.”
“A divorce?” I whispered. “What about our kids? What about us?”
“You’ll manage,” he said curtly. “I’ll send child support. But Miranda and I are serious. I brought her here so you’d know I’m not changing my mind.”
Then came the cruelest blow: “Oh—and you can sleep on the couch or go to your mom’s place tonight. Miranda’s staying over.”
For a second, the room spun. Then, quietly, I turned and walked upstairs. My hands shook as I packed a suitcase.
