When Derrick first told me about his plan to spend the day apart while on our getaway, I was a bit hurt and thought that I would hate being alone. But once I was in the moment, it actually felt amazing. I needed some “me time”—ever since I started dating Derrick, my life had practically revolved around him. I had even taken a semester off from school to enjoy my new lifestyle. Although he pampered me and always treated me well, I felt like I needed space, especially now. The new drama with his wife had given me a tremendous amount of stress. I figured a trip to the spa would do me well.
A couple hours later, I left the spa feeling vibrant and carefree. When I got to the hotel room, I realized that I had no idea when Derrick would be back—was I eating dinner alone or would he be back in time? I called his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. I really didn’t feel like waiting, so I called the golf course he was at, hoping that I’d be able to just ask him about dinner.
The concierge at the golf course answered the phone, and when I asked for Derrick, the man on the other end said, “Mrs. Friedman? I am so sorry, ma’am. I thought I already put you through to him. He said he would be out front waiting for you. Let me see what’s going on.”
My heart sank, and I instantly dropped the phone. I stood there like a statue, cold and lifeless for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t feel my heart beating. When the color finally returned to my face, I got in his Maserati and headed back toward the golf course. I wasn’t really sure what I would do when I got there, but I knew I could not stay in the room and wait for him. At one point, I even contemplated crashing his precious Maserati into a pole. Luckily, common sense hit me and I realized I would just end up getting really hurt. So I kept driving, my heart jumping out of my skin at every turn. When I finally arrived at the golf course, I parked the car up front and practically ran inside.
I was so nervous that my limbs felt numb. I roamed the area looking for my older man and his wife. And then I saw them off in the distance out on the course. She was dressed in an adorable golfing outfit, and was preparing to take a swing at the ball. She missed and they both laughed, which only reminded me of when I shared a laugh with Derrick earlier that same day. They looked genuinely happy. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him passionately. I turned my attention to him—he looked so pleased to be there with her.
Like a wave of water, it hit me: I was his mistress. Who was I to interrupt a married couple’s outing? I didn’t know what to feel anymore. But I did know one thing: he wasn’t my man, he was hers.