Hours later, a doctor emerged, sweat on his forehead. “Mrs. Roberts, we managed to separate them. Fortunately, no serious permanent damage. Just some skin ointment needed.”
I nodded, pretending to be relieved, while my fingers brushed against my purse. Before I left the house, I had grabbed two tubes of thick, spicy mustard.
The nurse handed me the actual tubes of healing ointment to take to them. The moment she turned around, I swapped them for the mustard.
I entered the hospital room feigning concern. Julian and Allison were in separate beds, unable to look at me.
“Julian? Allison? Are you okay?” I asked softly.
Julian mumbled, “Juliet, I can explain…”
“Don’t,” I said simply. I placed the tube of “ointment”—the mustard—on the table between their beds and walked out.
Minutes later, a gut-wrenching scream erupted from the room. It was Allison. “It burns! My skin is on fire!” Julian was cursing loudly. “Who did this?”
The entire hallway was in an uproar. The humiliation was total and public. Mrs. Peterson’s video of them being carried out on the stretcher had already spread on social media.
Daniel entered the room then, holding a thick folder. I had called him and asked him to bring the envelope I had hidden, along with two divorce papers I had already drawn up.
He handed me the folder without saying a word. I opened it, took out the documents, and placed them on the table in front of Julian.
I looked him directly in the eyes. My voice was cold and firm. “Forty years of marriage end here. Sign these, and then disappear from my son’s life and mine.”
Allison collapsed, crying toward Daniel. “Honey, forgive me! I made a mistake!”
Daniel looked at her, his gaze as hard as stone, and left the room without a word. Julian tried to grab my hand. “Juliet, please…”
I pulled away. “You chose this path, Julian.”
A few weeks after the scandal, my bakery chain was busier than ever. People supported me. They called me strong. But Daniel moved in with me, and he wasn’t the same. His eyes carried a wound that wouldn’t heal.
