Leaving my tea and book behind, I dressed quickly. Nearly 2 PM, I couldn’t fathom why Tom would speak of a double date if it weren’t true.
I needed answers. Coachella, as it turned out, was an outdoor restaurant. I found a secluded spot with a view of the entrance, unnoticed.
The wait was agonizing. Ordering a cocktail to steady my nerves, I watched as Mark entered — not alone, but with a woman on his arm.
She was striking, adorned in designer attire. My heart sank.
Observing them join Tom and his wife, Sasha, at a table, I realized the voicemail was intended for Mark alone.
Amidst swirling emotions, resolve settled within me. Action, not tears, was needed.
Summoning a waiter, I calmly instructed, “Your finest champagne for that table,” discreetly gesturing towards Mark.
The waiter complied, sensing the drama. As the champagne arrived, confusion and forced smiles adorned their faces. Even above the music, I heard Mark’s laughter.
Snapping a photo of their faux-celebration, I shared it online, tagging Mark. His reaction, upon seeing the notification, was priceless.
His frantic search for me proved fruitless. Ignoring his calls, I remained detached.
Ordering one last bottle of champagne and a piece of paper, I wrote: “To a memorable double date and our divorce, cheers!”
Leaving the restaurant, hurt and betrayed, I knew it was time to file for divorce.
That evening, Mark packed his belongings, claiming he was heading to Tom’s house. Apologies were offered, but the damage was done.
A week passed without communication. It’s time for me to begin the process of divorce.