Mistress No More Read Free Page A

closed as she leaned back heavily in her office chair.
    Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child. Another woman is pregnant with my husband’s child.
    Anotherwomanispregnantwithmyhusbandschild.
    “I hate my life.”
    She folded her feet beneath her in the chair as she looked at the framed pictures of her family. Snapshots of a better time—not the best of times but definitely better than now. She laughed bitterly at the thought that she’d spent a full day worrying about whether Jessa Bell had fucked her husband when she’d been completely blindsided by the news that her husband had cheated and his mistress was pregnant with his child. “Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees,” she muttered sarcastically.
    Jessa was the least of her damn worries.
    Brrrnnnggg .
    She cut her eyes over to the cordless phone ringing on the base. Who could it be?
    Her husband with his new responsibilities and obligations to another woman? Or her kids off enjoying their young lives without a real care in the world? Or her friends who were caught up in the drama of their own marriages?
    Beep . . . beep . . . beep.
    “Hi, this is Jackson . . . Renee . . . Aaron . . . and Kieran. The Clintons. We’re not available to take your message. After the beep, do your thing.”
    “Hmph. I need to change that shit.” After the gun she’d pulled on him the night of his big “revelation” Jackson didn’t have any choice but to move the hell out. Jackson’s no-good cheating ass was now the proud renter of a two-bedroom town house downtown.
    Beep.
    “Renee, this is Darren. You really need to show up at the luncheon for the upcoming CancerWalk. All the head figures are looking for you to be there. Call me back so I know what to say.”
    That shit went right out of her head. It was Sunday. How many weekends had she been off at work while her husband had been fucking another woman? No. She couldn’t handle it anyway. Her assistant was a handy little thing and she knew he would handle things. “Tomorrow, I will go to work. Tomorrow,” she promised, her words sounding hollow to her own ears.
    The job she’d once loved was now a reminder of her failed marriage. Her need for a career had caused such a wedge in her marriage. These days she couldn’t muster the passion and love she’d had for working for a nonprofit benefiting cancer. These days she was too busy nursing a shattered heart.
    “Love don’t live here anymore,” Renee sang, completely off-key as she reached for the bottle of Patrón and poured herself a hefty shot.
    Beep . . . beep . . . beep.
    Straight tequila was an acquired taste, especially for a causal drinker, but for the last month she had come to love everything about the liquor. Every single thing. The look of it as it poured into a clear glass. The smell of it filling her nose as she held the glass to her lip and prepared to take a sip. Even the slight burn in her throat as she swallowed. And finally . . . finally . . . the way the liquor made her numb.
    Her husband’s outside baby. Her job. Her marriage. Her stress. Her kids. Her secrets. Her husband’s secret. Her bullshit.
    The bullshit.
    All of it went away when she was deep into her Patrón. All of it.
    “Fuck that shit,” she muttered, swiveling in her chair to turn away from the photo of her two children, smiling and happy without a true care in the world.
    And how would they feel when they discovered their father had a child on the way with another woman? How do you explain that to children? Especially teenagers.
    She couldn’t even grasp all of the emotions that flittered through her in the course of a day. How was she supposed to be ready to take on their feelings, their reactions, and their questions as well?
    “I shouldn’t be dealing with this shit.” Sighing, Renee lifted her glass, took a deep inhale that filled her chest, and then sipped intensely, letting the tequila float over her