Page 3 of Marriage & Mockery

Bennett was weird about watching The Wrong Side of Right at home, so I wasn’t as familiar with the show as most people would expect. But I’d seen the jokes about the character the internet loved to laugh at. The one viewers mocked without mercy.

The edges of the room began to blur, and my chest felt so tight, it was hard to draw a full breath.

He’d said it so casually. As if he didn’t realize he’d just announced to the entire world that I was the living source of every joke they had laughed at for four seasons.

Bennett held the award high for a photo op, somehow completely unaware of how the atmosphere in the room had changed.

For the first time since we’d met, I felt the ground under my life give way.

I sat frozen as a woman who had just congratulated me a few minutes ago now avoided my eyes. Charlotte looked like she wanted the floor to open up beneath her. A producer who worked with Bennett kept glancing between me and the stage, then quickly away again, as if he had just realized he was sitting next to the real-life punchline.

Heat crawled up the back of my neck. My gown suddenly felt too tight, as though every person in the ballroom could see straight through it to the humiliation underneath.

Bennett would be backstage soon for the usual press pictures and interviews. It would be a while before he returned to the table. Long enough for me to leave without having to face him in front of all these people.

I stood slowly, smoothing my dress with hands that weren’t quite steady. No one at the table tried to stop me. A few offered tight, pitying smiles. Most simply looked relieved that I was removing the awkwardness from their immediate space.

I walked without rushing, my eyes fixed on the distant exit. The room felt longer than it had when we arrived. But I kept moving until the heavy ballroom doors closed behind me, and I let myself draw a full, shaking breath.

A security guard near the exit recognized me and stepped forward without a word. He guided me through the remaining hallway and out into the cool night air, then opened the rear door of a waiting Town Car. I slid onto the leather seat, and the door closed behind me.

The driver pulled away from the venue. As city lights slid past the tinted windows in long, blurred streaks, I stared straight ahead with my hands clenched in my lap. I felt the horror expand inside my chest with every block that passed.

The pressure made it difficult to sit still, but I needed space where no one could see me when everything finally broke open.

The ride felt like it took forever. By the time the car turned onto our street, the need for privacy had become almost desperate. I could not fall apart here. Not in the back of this car, while the driver could glance in the rearview mirror and watch me come undone.

I needed to be alone, so I didn’t waste any time. As soon as the car pulled into our drive, I flung the door open and climbed out. Racing up the front steps, I stepped into the house and leaned against the door after shutting it behind me. The familiar scent of home wrapped around me, but it offered none of the usual comfort. Or the privacy I so desperately needed.

Lucy was in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch with her phone in her hands. When she looked up, her eyes met mine with surprise. “You’re home early.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the words yet.

She studied my face, then set her phone in her lap. “Did you leave because of what Dad said in his acceptance speech?”

It wasn’t just the entire industry who had just watched Bennett humiliate me; the person I loved most after him had as well.

Straightening, I asked, “How do you already know about that?”

“It’s like you have no clue how this town works,” she mumbled with a roll of her eyes. “Clips of the Sally part are already all over the internet.”

“No,” I gasped, pressing trembling fingers to my lips.

“Here.” She got up and shoved her phone into my hand. “See for yourself.”

The video she showed me already had hundreds of thousands of views, and the comments were all brutal. But the situation only got worse because the last thing I expected when I came home was for my daughter to add to my devastation.

“The way Dad put you on blast wasn’t cool, but he’s right.”

It shouldn’t be possible for your heart to break twice in one night, but my husband and Lucy had stomped mine to smithereens. I wasn’t sure how I could survive the pain.

The last solid piece inside me gave way. My own daughter had looked at my public humiliation and sided with her father. She thought I was the punchline too.

I couldn’t stay in this house. Not while my daughter’s words hung in the air between us, and my husband would be home sooner than I’d be ready to face him.

Lucy was standing in front of me, waiting for a reaction I couldn’t give her. I handed her phone back without looking at the screen again and turned toward the stairs.

My legs felt unsteady as I climbed them. When I reached our bedroom, I moved on pure instinct—opening the closet, pulling a rolling carry-on bag from the top shelf, and filling it with the first clothes my hands found. Panties and bras, a couple of pairs of jeans, two soft sweaters and matching T-shirts to go beneath them, pajamas, and the toiletries I would need for a night or two.