His Intern

The day my husband’s intern showed up on my doorstep was our twentieth wedding anniversary. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, maybe nineteen, with a look in her eyes that was a brazen cocktail of confidence and contempt. “James told me he never knew what true love was until he met me,” she announced. “You’ve had a nice long run, but it’s time to step aside.” When I asked James to fire her, he said I was being unreasonable. My own daughter told me I was just menopausal and paranoid, and then, to my horror, she befriended the intern. My first instinct was to endure it, to weather this storm as I had with all the other little flings and flirtations over the years. But then I found out the girl was pregnant. And James had moved her into the very first apartment we ever shared—the place where our love story began. That’s when I knew. Some things, once they become trash, just need to be thrown out. I contacted the best divorce attorney in the city. But when James found out, his eyes went wild. He grabbed my arm, his voice raw. “You’re hiring your ex-boyfriend to handle our divorce? After all these years, you still haven't forgotten him?” 1 To be honest, at the very beginning, I really did try to just let it go. The intern, Heather, was so young—barely out of her teens. My husband, James, had just turned forty-one. Our daughter was already in college. The girl came to me, her eyes brimming with tears, pleading for me to “set their love free.” Her eyes sparkled with a fierce determination, a mirror of the reckless girl I once was. Now, all I saw in my own reflection were fine lines creeping from the corners of my eyes and the stray silver hair I’d found that morning. “Claire,” she said, her tone falsely sweet, “let’s be honest, woman to woman. Your body isn’t what it used to be. You don’t know a thing about his business. What exactly are you holding onto him with?” She leaned in, a conspiratorial smirk on her lips. “The only reason James hasn't divorced you is because he’s a good man, and he pities you. But there’s a line, you know? A person can’t be that shameless.” A dry laugh escaped my lips. I looked at this smug girl, her lips pursed in a perfect pout. “I’m sorry, did I hear you right? You, the little homewrecker who wormed her way into my family, are calling me shameless?” She pulled down the collar of her blouse, revealing a stretch of pale neck littered with a constellation of angry red marks. “Last night, he held me and told me that being with me was the first time he ever felt a true union of body and soul.” Her voice was a triumphant whisper. “From my first day at the company, he took care of everything for me. He taught me how to read financial statements, how to analyze contracts, how to negotiate.” “I understand his ambition, his dreams. At the office, I’m his right hand. In bed,” she paused, her eyes glinting, “I’m the fantasy he can’t get enough of.” I let out a cold snort and leaned back in my chair. “Heather, is it? You’re an intern, not even graduated yet. You think it’s some grand achievement to sleep your way into my husband's bed under the guise of work?” I let the question hang in the air. “You don’t actually believe you’re the first little girl to latch onto James Shaw, do you?” Heather’s body went rigid. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “Have you ever wondered why he’s never divorced me?” I pressed, watching the panic bloom in her eyes, her breathing growing shallow. “There’s a saying: better to be a rich man’s wife than a poor man’s darling. Instead of waving your youth around like a trophy, you should be thinking about how much money you can squeeze out of him before he gets tired of you and kicks you to the curb.” When I got home, James was on the sofa, scrolling through documents on his tablet. Time had been exceptionally kind to him. Even in his forties, the years had only carved a deeper, more mature intensity into his brow, making him all the more magnetic. He heard me come in but didn't look up. This was the rhythm of our life after twenty years. An unspoken truce. If I didn’t speak, it meant there was nothing to discuss. I went into the kitchen and soon returned with dinner. Three dishes and a soup. James put down his tablet and moved to the table. “Jenna called. She wants you to pick her up for Fall Break.” “Okay.” “Your mother hasn’t been feeling well. She needs to see a doctor.” “Fine. You can handle it.” “The bathroom floor is getting slippery. I was thinking of having it redone.” “Whatever you think is best.” “Heather came to see me today.” … His eyes finally lifted from his bowl, meeting mine. His expression was flat, detached, with just a hint of confusion. “And?” His mistress had just confronted me, and all he had to say was and? Even after years of mastering my temper, the word lodged in my throat. I frowned, staring at him. “James, we are married. What you are doing is called having an affair.” Something in my tone must have struck a nerve. He slammed his bowl down on the table with a sharp crack. “Don’t be so dramatic, Claire.” “Heather is just an intern at the office. I help her out a little, and suddenly you’re acting like a paranoid lunatic.” Classic James. Not just deceiving himself, but turning the blame back on me. Dinner ended in a cold, suffocating silence. I expected the tension to linger for days. I was wrong. The very next afternoon, I came home from grocery shopping to find Heather in my living room. She was wearing the slippers I’d bought for our daughter, leaning against James’s shoulder as he handed her a glass of homemade lemonade. “Oh, James, you’re amazing! I can’t believe you know how to make this from scratch.” She took a long sip, her head tilted back as she gazed at him with pure adoration. “Heh, don’t be so dramatic. Drink it slowly,” he murmured, his thumb gently wiping a drop from the corner of her mouth, his fingers lingering on her lips. A sharp, bitter scent of lemon filled the air. When we were young and newly in love, I had a craving for fresh lemonade. James bought lemons by the crate, spending hours perfecting his recipe, determined to make the freshest, most delicious drink just for me. And now, he was making it for her. Heather took another small sip, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. She settled back on the sofa, her pale, slender legs swinging playfully. I saw James’s gaze darken. It was a look I knew all too well. The look of desire. He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. Just as their lips were about to meet, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Seeing me didn’t faze her. She stayed right where she was, draped over James, and simply tilted her head. “Oh, hi, Claire! We meet again!” she chirped. “Sorry about this, I twisted my ankle, and James was just taking a look. You don’t mind, do you?” She shifted her weight, and a low grunt escaped James’s lips. I took a slow breath, walked to the dining table, and set down the groceries. Then, I turned to my husband. “Let’s get a divorce.” 2 James refused. His excuse was that he hadn’t committed any “fundamental breach” of our marriage vows. He then mobilized our entire network of family and friends to talk me out of it. My in-laws, whom I had cared for for two decades, told me these young girls were shameless. They promised to set things right, to have James transfer five percent of his company shares to my name as compensation. Our mutual friends warned me that leaving would be playing right into the other woman’s hands. James’s business was booming; only a fool would walk away from that kind of wealth. My best friend was going through her own divorce. Her husband had also cheated, but he was broke and ugly. She sighed and suggested I just let it go. “At least James is rich,” she said. It seemed money was the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card, capable of pardoning any sin within a marriage. I said nothing and continued gathering the documents I needed. My father heard the news and stormed over. The moment he walked in, he slapped me across the face, his voice booming. He called me ungrateful, reminding me that I was forty years old. Who would want me now? He looked healthy, flushed with life. Clearly, his new wife was taking good care of him, and my new little half-brother was a delight. He had no time for my petty grievances. The last person to try and change my mind was my daughter. When Jenna came home from college, my first instinct was to hug her. She shoved me away. “Why are you so determined to divorce Dad?” I, who had stood my ground against everyone else, felt myself shrink. “Your father is with another woman, honey. I can’t live like this anymore.” “You mean Heather? Dad told you, she’s just an intern from his office!” Jenna looked at me with an impatience that was a perfect echo of her father’s. “Mom, you’ve lived a life of luxury. Do you really think you can handle being on your own? Don’t come crying to me when you can’t.” Honestly, until that moment, I had believed that she, the child I had raised with my own hands, would be the one to give me a hug. I imagined her screaming at her father, demanding to know why he had hurt me, standing firmly by my side. Instead, she unleashed a torrent of anger at me, then stormed upstairs. SLAM! The sound of her door shutting rattled the house, and my soul along with it. Claire, how did you let your life come to this? That evening, for the first time in what felt like a year, James joined me in the shower. He entered the steamy bathroom, his eyes cold and distant. But his hands moved with a familiar confidence, tracing paths across my body. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” he murmured. “I’ll get rid of her tomorrow. She’ll be out of the company. You’ll never have to see her again.” A warmth spread across my skin, but a chilling frost was forming around my heart. I closed my eyes, letting the hot water mix with the silent tears rolling down my cheeks. “James.” “Hmm?” “Did you sleep with her?” “...” The silence was all the answer I needed. A wave of fury surged through me. “You… you make me sick.” That girl, Heather, was the same age as our daughter. If he’d chosen someone in their late twenties, or thirties, I could have chalked it up to a simple mid-life crisis. But he chose a girl young enough to be his child. A girl just starting out in the world. How could he? My words enraged him. He shoved me, hard. 3 A sharp pain shot through my ankle, but before I could react, he grabbed my chin and dragged me in front of the fogged-up mirror. “I make you sick? What about you? Aren’t you disgusting?” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. “Look at yourself! Look at this haircut—it looks like a dog chewed it! Look at your breasts, they’re sagging down to your stomach! And your face, all those spots… it’s impossible to even look at you anymore!” “Claire, do you even look like a woman anymore?” His hand moved from my chin, cruelly squeezing my breast, his eyes like shards of ice. “We can stay like this. I’ll guarantee you a life of comfort. But if you divorce me, I swear I will make your life a living hell.” Long after he had left, I was still trembling. I couldn’t believe the man I had loved for twenty years could say such things. Or… had he changed long ago, and I had simply been too blind to see? I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, the sting of pain bringing a cold, sharp clarity. James Shaw, you think I’m powerless? You think you can do whatever you want? Just you wait. This divorce is happening. The next morning, James had, for the first time in ages, made breakfast. My daughter, Jenna, was already eating. She glanced at me and then quickly looked down, clearly still angry. He, however, played the peacemaker. “Jenna,” he said softly, “we agreed yesterday. We’re going to forgive your mother.” Jenna mumbled a reluctant, “Morning, Mom.” “She was tired from the trip yesterday,” James said, his eyes meeting mine with a look of undisguised triumph. “Come eat. I made your favorite, club sandwiches.” I didn’t say a word. A moment later, the doorbell rang. The housekeeper showed Heather in. “Good morning, Mrs. Shaw. I’m just here to drop off some files for James.” They exchanged a handshake that lingered a little too long. Jenna didn’t seem to notice or care; instead, she invited Heather to join them for breakfast. Heather feigned hesitation for a moment before gracefully sliding into my seat at the table. As if to spite me, Jenna pushed my plate of food in front of her. Then she poured her a glass of orange juice—my favorite. Heather, for her part, turned on the charm, doing everything she could to win Jenna over. They discovered they’d even gone to the same university. “Wow, Jenna, you’re so cool! I was worried you’d be like your mom and not like me…” Heather simpered. “My mom’s just going through menopause, she’s paranoid about everything,” Jenna replied dismissively. “She’s convinced you and my dad are having an affair. Just ignore her.” By the end of the meal, the two of them were acting like best friends. I had stopped listening the moment Jenna called me paranoid. I turned and walked out of the house. I had to see someone. An old classmate I hadn’t spoken to in over a decade. My first love, and now the city’s top litigator, Grant Hayes. 4 In a quiet corner of a coffee shop, I laid out the whole story for Grant. He just snorted. “You’re really ready to let him go?” All these years, and he was still as blunt as ever. If he’d been just a little gentler back then, maybe I never would have broken up with him. Not wanting to get into it with him, I pulled a card from my purse and slid it across the table. “I did my research. Your current rate is a million-dollar retainer. This is half. You’ll get the rest when the divorce is final. This is business, Grant. No feelings involved.” Grant picked up the card, flicked it between his fingers, and then tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Whatever you say, boss.” On the way out, he offered me a ride. Compared to my life of domestic bliss, his had been much harder. I’d heard his wife passed away from an illness a few years ago. They never had children. He’d since poured all his energy into his work, becoming the most sought-after lawyer in the city. Grant’s car was a loud-ass Maserati that roared to life. I couldn't help but frown. “You’re a grown man. Why do you still like such flashy toys?” I wondered what his late wife had seen in him. He just arched an eyebrow. “You used to love this stuff, remember?” He had me there. In my twenties, I was all about the flash. But who has the energy for that at forty? I let it drop. When he dropped me off, I sent him a three-hundred-dollar transfer. G: ? C: For the ride. G: Got it, boss. Despite the flashy car, Grant gave me a mountain of solid advice. Following his instructions, I managed to get a clear picture of James’s finances. I also hired a private investigator who quickly found the address where he was keeping his little secret. It was an apartment I’d bought before we were married. We lived there when we were dating and for the first few years of our marriage. It was only after Jenna was born and we needed space for a nanny that we moved into our current house. I hadn’t been back in years. This is where he was hiding her? I found my old key and went over on a day I knew they’d be out. Inside, nothing had changed, except for the clutter of a new life. It was painfully obvious that Heather was desperate to marry James. Behind the sofa hung a portrait of them together. On the dining table sat a hand-crocheted doll she’d made. And in the kitchen, a rich, fragrant soup was simmering on low. If the portrait hadn’t been a carbon copy of one James and I had taken in that exact spot… If the doll hadn’t been a replica of my favorite orange plushie… And if the soup hadn’t been the exact recipe I had spent weeks developing to soothe James’s chronic stomach problems… Then maybe, just maybe, I could have applauded this happy little illicit love nest. But that soup recipe… I had only ever shared it with one person: my mother-in-law. Which meant that besides me, she was the only one who knew it. And now it was simmering in Heather’s kitchen. The weight of so many betrayals crashed down on me. Was I such a failure that everyone in my life felt no hesitation in hurting me? Just as I was drowning in despair, the door swung open. Heather burst in, beaming. She threw herself into James’s arms. “It’s wonderful! James, my love, I’m finally going to give you a son!” James stroked her cheek, a look of pure adoration on his face. Then he looked up, and his eyes met mine. For the first time in our twenty years together, I saw genuine panic on James Shaw’s face. … He never, in a million years, could have expected to find me here. But in that moment, a strange calm washed over me. I took out my phone and started recording. He saw the red light and lunged for it, but I stepped back. “Think carefully, James. This building has security cameras. If I get the footage, your reputation is finished.” James’s breath came in ragged gasps. He was a man accustomed to being in control, a titan of industry. This loss of control was making him visibly agitated. “Claire, stop this nonsense. Go home.” “I want a divorce.” “I’m not divorcing you. Get that idea out of your head!” “I want a divorce. We’ll sign the papers tomorrow. If not, you and your little secret will be front-page news.” “Why are you doing this? Have you thought about my parents? About your father? Have you thought about our daughter?” The mention of Jenna made something inside me snap. I grabbed a vase and hurled it to the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare bring them into this!” I screamed, rushing forward and slapping him hard across the face. “You bastard! You didn’t think about them when you were cheating on me! You didn’t think about them when you were getting another woman pregnant! And now that I’ve caught you red-handed, you have the nerve to tell me to think about them? What kind of world-class hypocrite are you?” “You’re nothing but a disgusting old man who can’t keep it in his pants! You think you can humiliate me and then silence me? Dream on! Either you sign those papers with me tomorrow, or we go to war, and I will burn everything to the ground. Your choice!” I went straight to Grant’s law firm. He was free and led me to a quiet office, pouring me a glass of water. “What happened? You look ready to kill someone.” “Don’t ask. I ran into the mistress. She’s pregnant.” “So, what’s your next move?” At the question, my anger flared again. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do now?” Grant paused, then pushed the glass of water closer to me. The small gesture extinguished my rage. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He shrugged. “It’s fine. The customer is always right.” … Grant explained that this development was actually a huge advantage for me. The photos I took in the apartment, combined with the fact that James now had a child with another woman, constituted irrefutable proof of adultery. This would significantly strengthen my position in the asset division. My mind felt numb. I couldn’t process any of it. When I left the firm, he offered me a ride, but I refused. I needed to walk. I needed to be alone. 5 I walked along the park trails for two or three hours. It was a Friday afternoon, and the park was mostly empty, save for a few people strolling. I saw a young couple, obviously deeply in love. The boy would snap a photo of the girl, then lean in and steal a kiss. Once upon a time, James and I were just like them. We met in high school and were inseparable through college, the campus’s golden couple. My family was well-off, and James was handsome, brilliant, and at the top of his class. Countless girls tried to steal him away. But James never wavered. He gave me a profound sense of security and even proposed to me in our sophomore year. In fairy tales, the prince and princess always end up at the altar. What they never tell you is that getting married is easy; staying married is the impossible part. After graduation, James took over his family’s business and multiplied its profits tenfold. He traveled constantly. The day our daughter was born, he was in another city signing a contract. My in-laws were old-fashioned and desperate for a grandson. After Jenna was born, they pressured me endlessly to try for another. James always shut them down. He was terrified of me going through another postpartum hemorrhage like the first one. He placed me on a pedestal, safe and secure inside an ivory tower. I never imagined the man holding me up had grown weary, or that he would let me fall without so much of a warning. Heather wasn’t the first. But she was the first one James allowed to be seen, to taunt me openly. He was testing me, trying to find the absolute limit of my tolerance. Or maybe, his ideal endgame was to have it all. When I finally got home, my in-laws were there, laughing and chatting happily with Jenna. My poor, foolish daughter. I had sheltered her so well that she was completely oblivious to the malice her grandparents held in their hearts. And there, in the center of them all, was Heather, smiling sweetly. James looked up and saw me. The red mark from my slap was still visible on his cheek. His expression wasn’t as pleased as I expected. Because he also saw the resolve in my eyes. After twenty years, we could still read each other without a word. His face instantly turned to stone. He turned to Heather. “You should go.” The warmth in the room evaporated. Heather was stunned. “Wh-what? Why?” “I said go.” In the Shaw household, money was power, and James’s word was law. My in-laws didn’t dare say a thing, confused by his sudden change of heart. My mother-in-law shot me a venomous glare. James called for the driver. Heather started to leave, looking back at him with every step. Jenna couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, what is wrong with you?” she yelled. “Why are you making Heather leave? She came to see me! She’s my friend!” For the first time, I didn’t hold back. A cold laugh escaped my lips. “You want to be best friends with your father’s mistress?” “...I told you, it’s a misunderstanding! There’s nothing going on between them!” “Heather is pregnant with your father’s child.” Jenna’s face went pale. She turned to James. “Dad… is that true?” 6 James sent everyone away. We sat at opposite ends of the long dining table, the silence stretching between us. “I don’t understand, Claire. Why do you have to make things so ugly?” he finally said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I told you, Heather won’t affect your position. When the baby is born, you’ll be his mother. Nothing between us has to change.” I just stared at him. How could anyone say those words with a straight face? I was so stunned I started to laugh. “How could you possibly think that’s okay?” I asked him directly. He slammed his fist on the table. “Why shouldn’t it be okay? It’s how the world works!” “Look at Bob Henderson—sixty years old, and his new girlfriend just gave him a son. His wife even went over to help out after the birth! Look at Mr. Davies—he has a whole apartment building in the city filled with mistresses waiting for him to visit!” “So what have I done that’s so terrible? All I want is a son, something to make my parents happy. If your health hadn’t been an issue, do you think I would have looked elsewhere? Claire, search your heart. Have I not been good to you all these years?” His voice rose with each word, a crescendo of self-pity and indignation. “After your mother died, your father only cared about his new wife and son. It was my money that made them treat you with respect! Every time you went home and acted like a queen, who do you think was backing you up? It was me!” “Every class reunion, you showed up dripping in designer clothes and jewelry. Everyone envied you, flattered you. You think that was about you? They were kissing up to James Shaw!” “My mother has been begging me for a grandson for years, and I always told her no, that Jenna was enough. You think I don’t want a son? I have this massive company! Am I supposed to just hand it over to a stranger? Who’s the naive one here, Claire? You or me? Just drop it! Like your friend said, stop being so ungrateful!” He was shouting now, his face contorted with outrage, as if in this entire sordid affair, I was the one at fault. My laughter returned, sharp and bitter. It’s true what they say—at the peak of anger, all you can do is laugh. I didn’t know whether to curse his callous cruelty or laugh at my own foolishness. Twenty years of what I thought was a happy, loving marriage was, in his eyes, nothing more than charity. I looked at him, really looked at him. His face hadn’t changed much over the years, but now, all I saw was an ugly, repulsive stranger. I had no interest in a screaming match about who was right or wrong. At this point, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting what I was owed and getting out. I stood up and pulled a file from my bag. “Since you’re so unhappy with me, you shouldn’t have any problem with this. Here’s the divorce agreement. Sign it.” James stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I’ve said all that, and you still want a divorce?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “I do.” “Fine,” he snarled, grabbing the papers. “Don’t you dare regret this.” He scanned the pages, then seized a pen and, with a vicious stroke, ended our twenty years of marriage.

? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394268", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel