Rivka Yablonski

I’d been a divorce attorney for six years. That night, I was doing a live Q&A on Instagram when a girl joined the stream, her voice honey-sweet. “Hi, can I ask you something?” “I’ve fallen for a married man. His wife doesn’t know yet.” “I want him to divorce her and marry me. Any advice?” I smiled into the camera. “Find someone else.” She paused, then laughed along with me. “Meredith, don’t be so formal. You’ve handled so many divorce cases. You must know a few tricks.” She propped her chin on her hand, her tone breezy. “Like, how do you get the wife to give up her share of the marital assets and just walk away?” I stared at the exquisitely made-up face in the small video window. “Why do you ask?” She blinked. “No reason. Just curious.” “Oh, right. I haven’t introduced myself.” “My name is Laney. I’m your husband’s assistant.” “He’s staying at my place tonight, by the way. He won’t be home until morning, so you don’t have to wait up.” ... The comment section exploded. I watched the messages blur as they scrolled up the screen. Those few seconds stretched into an eternity. Then I smiled. “Laney, is it? Thank you for letting me know.” “But you’re wrong about one thing.” “Legally, as long as we haven’t finalized the paperwork at the County Clerk’s Office, he is still my husband.” “Where he sleeps tonight is irrelevant.” “I’ve handled a lot of cases. I’ve seen more than one person lose their marriage, their job, and their reputation over an affair.” “Good night.” I ended the livestream. My hand was still on the mouse, shaking violently. My phone rang. It was Darragh. I stared at the name flashing on the screen and was suddenly six years in the past, meeting him for the first time. I had just passed the bar and was interning at my mentor’s firm. Darragh was a partner on the adjacent team, eight years my senior. My mentor said he was going to go far. The first time I saw him was in the elevator. He was wearing a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a cup of coffee. The elevator jolted, and a few drops splashed onto my shoe. He froze, then immediately dropped into a crouch and wiped my shoe with his own sleeve. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair.” Startled, I took a step back. “It’s fine. Really, you don’t have to.” He stood, a sheepish smile on his face. “Then at least let me buy you a coffee?” He told me later it was the worst pickup attempt of his life. The year we started dating, I was twenty-five and he was thirty-three. He took me to meet his parents and his friends, and to every restaurant he loved. He would tell the owners, “This is my girlfriend.” I asked him once, “Why are you so good to me?” He said, “Because I waited thirty-three years to find you. Now that you’re here, of course I’m going to treat you well.” On our wedding day, in front of God and everyone, he said, “Meredith, I may never be a billionaire. I may never make managing partner. But I can promise you one thing. You will always be the most important person in my life. No one will ever come before you.” I cried so hard I couldn’t stop. My mother, wiping away her own tears beside me, told me I had married the right man.The phone was still ringing. I answered. “Hello.” “Mer, let me explain.” His voice was urgent. The background was silent—he wasn’t outside. “Explain what?” “Laney… she was just messing around. Don’t take it seriously.” I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. “Darragh, your assistant crashed my livestream in the middle of the night to tell me she’s with you. And you’re telling me not to take it seriously?” He was silent for a few seconds. “She was drunk. I had dinner with a client, and she was there. By the time it ended, she was a mess. I didn’t know where she lived, so I just got her a hotel room. I left right af......