He Cheated With My Friend – Large Print

Daddy says I ought to take my cheating husband back. I’d rather take my divorce lawyer to dinner.

I go looking for a cake server at our church’s Labor Day picnic and find my husband with his hand in my best friend’s hair. Her dress is unzipped. I say, “Excuse me,” reach past them, and get the cake server. Thirty-one years as a pastor’s daughter, and my manners hold up beautifully under pressure.

Mama hands me the sweet tea to pour. Daddy wants me in marriage counseling. Come Sunday, I’m at the piano with my husband up on the platform and the woman he’s sleeping with directing the choir six feet away.

By Monday, I want a divorce and make an appointment with an attorney. Corman Oxnell is the first person who asks what I want and sticks around for the answer. He’s six-four, funny enough to make me snort over his office coffee, and honest enough to tell me when his feelings for me mean I need another lawyer. Once the new lawyer is officially mine, I ask Corman to dinner. I kiss him first too.

By Thanksgiving, I’m carrying a buttermilk pie into a house full of people who’ve got twenty bucks apiece riding on whether I exist. I’d like to spend Christmas with them. I’d especially like to spend it with him.

Then Paul sends me a photograph of that first kiss. Daddy’s already seen it. The judge is next. My husband plans to swear I’m the one who had an affair. He can bring the picture. I’d love to hear him explain the forty thousand dollars missing from our savings.

Then Corman decides to pull back to protect me without asking me if that’s what I want. I still want to kiss him, but I also want to kick him. I’m already divorcing one man who thinks he knows what’s best for me. If Corman wants another chance, he’s going to have to listen to what I want. I’m done having people tell me what I should do, need, or feel.