He Played Her False: She Played Her Way Out

My Juilliard cello degree was just background noise to the perfect smile I plastered on for my husband, Wesley' s, political fundraisers.

For eight years, I was "Mrs. Wesley Lester," a pretty prop, while my priceless 18th-century cello sat in its case, my only sacred space, untouched by him.

Then, he grabbed it-not the case, the actual instrument-and shoved it into the arms of Gabrielle, his childhood friend and campaign manager, without a single thought.

I watched in horror as her lacquered nails scraped a searing line across its varnish.