The Divorce Glow-Up

The Divorce Glow-Up

10 DIRTY THINGS BEFORE I DIE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Now, if everyone could collectively pretend to believe that, let’s begin.

Episode 1: Chapter 1: The Vibrator

POV: CATHY

The 10-Dirty-Things-Before-I-Die list actually starts with a vibrator.

I know what you’re thinking.

A vibrator?

Boring. Next book, please.

Just hang in there for a sec. You’ll want to hear this, I promise.

Besides, I didn’t say the vibrator was actually on the list. It was just the start of the whole shitshow that ended up becoming my life when my husband found it.

Yes, after weeks of overthinking, three days of deleting my browser history, and half a heart attack when I finally pressed ‘Buy Now’, I ended up with nothing.

Well... A huge disappointment.

Which is basically a good summary of my sex life after two decades of marriage.

The worst part?

It wasn’t even one of those huge purple colored, cock-looking ones that look less like a sex toy and more like something that should come with a warning label and a user manual.

No, I was too afraid to order one of those.

I know.

Pathetic.

But, what if I unexpectedly died in a car accident and my poor daughter or son ended up finding it in my drawer while cleaning out my house?

That is the kind of thing a woman who has just turned forty thinks about.

So, I ordered the smallest vibrator available online. Checking over my shoulder like the FBI was investigating my browser history.

I should definitely not join a criminal organization.

Not that I have any criminal intentions. I’m the epitome of morally correct. I never cheated on a test, I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket.

Getting the vibrator was about as dangerous as I get.

My act of rebellion if you want.

Which is probably why the universe decided to punish me, by sending my husband home sick on the exact day it was delivered.

A day when he should have been neatly tucked away in his law office.

The courthouse would have worked as well.

Or a two-day legal convention, preferably on the other side of the country.

Don’t get me wrong. I had planned this like a military operation. The delivery date. Tracking the delivery guy. Pressing refresh so many times that if finger movement burned calories, I would have lost ten pounds that day.

I guess my husband has a personal vendetta against me getting an orgasm.

Because just as I sprang to check the driveway, he walked through the front door with the box in his hand.

My box.

The one they promised would be shipped ‘discreetly.’

Which is completely useless once it’s opened, of course.

He looked at the contents.

Then up at me.

Then back at the contents.

His face drained of color, before rapidly turning a lovely shade between red and purple.

Definitely purple.

“What the fuck is this, Catherine?” he spat, his voice trembling with anger.

I stared at the pink vibrator in his hand.

To be completely honest, more at the size than anything else.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Well, I guess it was technically the size advertised in the small print that I hadn’t bothered reading. I just hadn’t expected “compact” to mean easily mistaken for a USB stick.

Or a keychain at best.

Had I really gone through all that panic for this?

“What is this supposed to mean?” he demanded.

If you’re a married woman reading this, you know that in moments like these you have approximately three seconds to strategize your battle plan.

Option one: The “It’s not mine” defense.

A risky choice considering the package was addressed to me.

Option two: Act confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Difficult when the man is waving a pink vibrator around like evidence in a murder trial.

Or my personal favorite.

Option three: The best defense is offense.

“What are YOU doing opening MY packages?”

Not a strong argument, admittedly, but sometimes confidence is all you have.

“Answer me, Catherine! What the fuck is this?”

Normally, I’m pretty quick formulating the perfect response. Except this time, I just stood there gaping like a goldfish, staring at him a second too long.

I guess it was the disappointment all around that threw me off balance.

The disappointing vibrator.

The disappointing sex life.

The disappointing husband.

It was a lot of disappointment for half a life-time.

That brief hesitation was apparently all Eric needed.

He took an aggressive step forward.

Looking back, I knew right then that I was done.

Not because I was afraid of him.

I’m 5′7". Eric was 5′8" at best. Between the height and the beer belly, 'intimidating' was never really the word that came to mind when looking at him.

No.

It was the sudden realization that I really didn’t care anymore.

Something just snapped inside me.

You know those moments when you just know?

If you’re a devoted smut reader like me, you’re probably wondering by now whether there’s any spice in this book or if you’re wasting your time reading about a middle-aged housewife’s pathetic life.

Fair question.

Before I answer that, a quick note to my daughter.

Sweetheart, I specifically told you not to read this.

Go read my werewolf romance series on GALATEA.

There are six books.

Actually, eight if I find the time to finish it.

And if you’re still here, please know that if you keep reading, I’m not paying for therapy.

Now, back to the spice.

The answer is yes. Quite a lot, actually.

But unfortunately, before we get to the fun parts, we first have to deal with my husband, the vibrator, and the complete collapse of my carefully constructed life.

“CATHERINE!”

My eyes snapped back to Eric.

Somehow, I had almost forgotten he was there.

It’s funny how people, and even problems tend to disappear once you stop giving them more thought than they deserve.

I blinked, trying to buy myself another second.

“Look, Eric, I can explain, okay?” I said, holding my hands up defensively.

“Explain what?” he snapped. “How you degraded yourself by buying cheap things like this? Am I not enough for you? Why would you buy this?!”

He barked the words so aggressively that little droplets of spit flew through the air.

Apparently, my newfound calm had an accelerating effect on him.

Interesting.

Part of me wanted to see what would happen if I confessed that I had basically been faking satisfaction for our entire marriage and that the weekly missionary position he subjected me to was about as exciting as a dental appointment.

Actually, that wasn’t fair.

My dentist managed to make me smile after he was done.

I let out a slow, exasperated breath, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

If there was ever a moment to lie, this was probably it. I needed to come up with a reasonable excuse.

Amy was having marital problems. I could say it was for her. Eric loved making fun of his brother’s erectile dysfunction anyway.

“It’s not mine, Eric. Just relax, will you?”

“Don’t lie to me, Catherine!”

“I’m not lying, I swear,” I protested, plastering on my best poker face.

The problem was that after twenty years of marriage, my face had stopped cooperating.

“Stop it!” he yelled, suddenly grabbing my wrist.

I flinched.

Okay...

Apparently, a furious five-foot-eight Eric could be intimidating after all.

“What are you doing? Let go of me,” I hissed.

“We’re going to pastor James.”

He started pulling me toward the front door.

“Right now!”

I gasped, trying to wrench free.

“What?! Are you out of your mind? Let go of me, Eric!”

I dug my heels into the ground and pulled at my arm with all my strength.

This had to be a joke. I did not need a group discussion about my pathetic sex life with Pastor James of all people.

The man was ridiculously hot for a pastor. You know the sinful, tattooed biker turned terrifyingly wholesome sort of way… And well, let's just say he had featured in more than a few of my less-than-holy thoughts.

I absolutely did not need him finding out about my marital problems this way.

I would never be able to look him in the eye again.

“Hell yes, you are!” Eric barked, yanking open the car door and gesturing for me to get in.

Fuck.

I looked down at my white leggings and oversized T-shirt sliding off one shoulder. I didn’t even have a bra on!

“You can’t be serious, Eric!”

He answered by pushing me into the passenger seat.

I yelped.

“Eric!”

Ignoring me completely, he stalked around the car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door.

Hard.

I fastened my seatbelt. Because whatever was happening, safety always comes first dear reader. Especially when climbing into a car with an angry driver.

Which I would never have done under normal circumstances…

I cursed under my breath.

Was he convinced I was possessed by a demon or something? Just because I wanted a little relief?

For fuck’s sake.

The man wasn’t even religious!

He went to church because his father expected him to. And because being seen in church looked good for a respected lawyer in a small community.

I took a slow breath, trying to steady myself as frustration and anger churned inside me.

I couldn’t believe he was overreacting to something as trivial as a sex toy.

Even for Eric, that was a new low.

He should have just dragged me upstairs and fucked me so hard I forgot about the vibrator in the first place.

But that was nothing like Eric.

He liked playing the domestic dad. He expected me to play the role of the perfect wife and mother. And he loved pretending he knew everything better.

I hated it.

I hated the life of playing pretend.

And I hated him for doing this to me.

Tears of frustration welled in my eyes, and I blinked them away in fury—Not knowing that the ridiculous tiny pink vibrator would deliver on its promise of being ‘life changing’ before the day was over.

Because I was not only about to lose my marriage.

I was also on my way to finally get my well-deserved O.