I stood in Brody’s office as utensils clattered to the floor, shocked to see my husband openly flirting with his young secretary. When I confronted him, he dismissed it as “work” even as I saw his hand slide up her skirt. “Don’t make a scene,” he said, as if my heartbreak was inconvenient.
My carefully packed lunch lay ignored. I asked how long it had been going on, but he refused to talk. The secretary pleaded it wasn’t what it looked like, but I wasn’t fooled. When I accused him of cheating, Brody stood between us, telling me to calm down and that I didn’t understand. Then she handed me a folder with medical diagrams, saying he didn’t know how to explain. I was left even more confused and hurt.