Retail Revenge

Another Saturday, another two hours of watching nine-year-olds chase a ball around. I pulled my BMW X7 into the parking lot of Westport Youth Soccer Complex, balancing my Starbucks cup while Jake bounced excitedly in the backseat.

At least it gives David and me some separate time—lately we've been like ships passing in the night.

"Mom, can I get new cleats after practice?" Jake unbuckled his seatbelt before I'd even put the car in park.

"We'll see, honey." I watched him sprint toward his teammates, his enthusiasm infectious even on my most tired days.

The familiar scene unfolded around me—Mercedes and BMWs lined up like soldiers, mothers in Lululemon clutching their coffee cups, fathers checking phones between cheering. Westport in all its suburban glory.

"Sarah!" Lisa waved from the bleachers, her voice carrying that sing-song tone all the soccer moms used. "You're so lucky David can make it to some of these practices. Mine's always 'stuck at the office.'" She made air quotes around the phrase.

"Yeah, he tries his best." The truth was, I was proud that David made time for Jake despite his demanding schedule as a partner at Mitchell & Associates. Especially lately, he seemed so stressed about work.

I settled onto the aluminum bleachers, watching the kids warm up. That's when I noticed David on the sidelines, deep in conversation with Jessica Torres—the young Latina woman I'd personally helped get hired as assistant coach.

Something about their body language made me pause. Jessica was wearing that tight athletic wear that showed off her figure, and David kept touching her shoulder, leaning in close to speak. Too close.

Something about the way he's looking at her... No, stop it, Sarah. Your David wouldn't.

I forced myself to focus on Jake, remembering when I'd first met Jessica six months ago. Poor girl, raising little Miguel all by herself. I was so proud when I helped her get this coaching position. She'd sat in my kitchen, tears streaming down her face as she talked about struggling to make ends meet. I'd made the phone calls, vouched for her character, walked her application into the league office myself.

The practice flew by in a blur of running drills and shooting exercises. As the kids headed toward the locker room, Jake called out, "Mom, I'm going to the bathroom with Tommy!"

"Okay, honey!" I was halfway to my car when I realized Jake had left his water bottle behind. He'll be thirsty on the ride home.

I walked back toward the equipment room. As I got closer, I could hear strange sounds coming from inside—rhythmic creaking, heavy breathing, soft moans.

What the hell?

The door was slightly ajar. I paused, my hand on the handle, trying to make sense of what I was hearing.

Then I heard David's voice, low and breathless: "God, Jessica, you feel so good."

And her response, breathy and urgent: "David, we shouldn't... not here..."

"No one's coming back. Just us."

No. No, this can't be happening.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Part of me wanted to turn around, pretend I hadn't heard anything, go back to my car and wait. But I couldn't move.

I pushed the door open just a crack and peered inside.

The world literally stopped.

My husband—my husband of thirteen years—was having sex with the woman I'd helped get this job.

David was pressed against Jessica on the equipment room bench, both of them half-naked, his hands tangled in her dark hair, moving against her with desperate urgency. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back in pleasure.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

But it was. Every detail burned into my brain—the way his hands gripped her hips, the way she was responding to him, the way they moved together like they'd done this before.

My legs went numb. The coffee cup slipped from my hand, crashing to the concrete floor.

"What the hell is this?!"

David jerked away from Jessica so fast he nearly fell off the bench, frantically pulling up his pants. "Sarah! I can explain—"

"Explain? Explain what exactly? How you're screwing the woman I helped get hired?"

"It's not what it looks like!"

"Really? Because it looks like you're cheating on me with someone I went to bat for!"

Jessica was scrambling to fix her sports bra, her face flushed with shame. "Sarah, I'm so sorry, I never meant for—"

"Don't. Just don't." My voice was shaking with rage. "I helped you get this job. I recommended you to the league. I trusted you with my son!"

"It just happened, we didn't plan this—"

"It just happened? What, did you just slip and fall on his dick?"