Chapter 5 - Rebecca's Regret
Word travels fast when drama is involved, especially in a corporate environment.
Rebecca, who had clearly envisioned herself as the triumphant younger woman stealing the wealthy, successful older husband, quickly realized she had stolen a parasite.
Without my credit cards, Ethan was broke. His salary as a mid-level sales rep was heavily reliant on commissions he rarely earned. Suddenly, the lavish lunches stopped. The romantic weekend getaways vanished. Ethan couldn't even afford to take her to a decent restaurant, let alone buy her the expensive gifts she had grown accustomed to.
I learned all of this through mutual friends who still worked at their company. Rebecca had started complaining loudly in the breakroom about Ethan's "temporary cash flow issues." She told people I was a bitter, vindictive ex who was illegally withholding his money.
But the illusion shattered completely when their HR department got involved.
Because Ethan's life was spiraling out of control, his work performance tanked. He started showing up late, hungover, and miserable. Rebecca, realizing she had tied her horse to a sinking wagon, began distancing herself. The tension between them became a public spectacle in their office.
One evening, about two months after the Vegas incident, my doorbell rang.
I checked the security camera on my phone. It was Rebecca.
I hesitated, considering calling the police, but curiosity won. I opened the door, leaving the chain on just as I had with Ethan.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.
Rebecca looked awful. The smugness from the Vegas photo was entirely gone, replaced by tired, red-rimmed eyes and a nervous twitch in her jaw.
"I need to talk to you, Clara. Please."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"He lied to me!" she blurted out, a desperate edge to her voice. "He told me you two were basically separated. He told me you were abusive, that you controlled all his money and wouldn't let him live. He said he was going to leave you and that he had a massive savings account waiting for him."
I stared at her. A part of me wanted to laugh at her sheer stupidity, but another part just felt a profound exhaustion.
"And you believed him," I said softly.
"I loved him!" she cried, tears spilling over her mascara. "But he’s a nightmare. He drinks constantly, he expects me to pay for everything, and he blames me for the divorce! I just... I wanted to apologize. I didn't know."
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"You knew he was married, Rebecca," I cut her off, my voice hardening. "You knew you were sleeping with another woman's husband. You didn't care until the money ran out. Your apology means nothing to me. Do not come to my house again."
I slammed the door in her face. As I walked back to my living room, I realized something profound: I didn't hate her. I just pitied her. She was currently living the nightmare I had just woken up from.
