I was raised with nice things and nice cars, as my father owned an oil company. When the oil busted in the 1980s, I met my son’s father and in six weeks agreed to marry him. He could afford me. He owned homes and airplanes. Money was no object. I enjoyed our lifestyle for six years. However, I met and fell in love with our neighbor, my second husband. Needless to say, I didn’t get much out of my first marriage money-wise, but I did get sole custody of my son, and that was enough.
I was married to my second husband, the love of my life, for 12 years. From the outside, we had a great life. I’d married him with no job, but we both worked hard and soon enough it paid off. We owned private, for-profit cosmetology schools. They afforded us a beautiful home, luxury cars, and annual trips to the Kentucky Derby. It wasn’t a bad life. The marriage was lucrative. However, he hadn’t touched me in 10 years. He stopped all sexual activity when I was diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma in 1997—a childhood cancer I was tasked with at 32 years of age. I was no longer able to have children at that point, and even though my husband was raising my son from my previous marriage, he wanted his own children. It wasn’t in the cards, and I was being punished for it.
I knew my husband would leave once my son graduated high school, so I was the good wife for 10 years and then decided enough is enough. I had quiet affairs with several men, including a pro baseball player and the owner of a Houston oil company. They didn’t go anywhere. Some nice gifts and good times, but they weren’t my future.
In 2006, my husband and I were packing to leave for the Kentucky Derby. I turned to him and said, “I am an affair waiting to happen.” He never changed expressions, instead asked me if I had dry cleaned his lucky jacket. I knew the Derby was prime picking for rich men. I just didn’t know how rich.