He looked calm and almost bored as if this legal proceeding was just another minor inconvenience squeezed between his afternoon conference calls. Beside him stood Tiffany Rhodes, who served as his operations coordinator and his most trusted advisor.
She was also his mistress, and she stood far too close to him while wearing a silk navy dress that signaled her confidence. She did not look embarrassed about her presence there, and Harrison certainly did not look ashamed to have her by his side.
That was the moment my stomach began to turn with a familiar sense of dread. It was not the betrayal itself that hurt because I had processed that pain months ago during the long nights spent alone.
The real sting came from the way he no longer felt the need to hide his infidelity or his lack of respect for me. I sat at the respondent’s table and pressed my hand firmly onto the manila folder that contained the evidence of our life together.
Inside were ultrasound reports, overdue bills from the hospital, and screenshots of messages I had been too humiliated to share with anyone else. My attorney, Simon Fletcher, was not at his seat even though the hearing was scheduled to begin in minutes.