Too Late For Regret: The Neglected Wife

My car broke down in a torrential downpour, so I called my husband of seven years for help.

He hung up on me. But minutes later, his childhood sweetheart, Alona, pulled up, slapped herself in the face, and called his private line crying that I had attacked her.

Dominic arrived in his Bentley almost immediately. He didn't even look at my shivering, soaked body. Instead, he wrapped his jacket around Alona, tossed a corporate card at me to call a cab, and drove away. Through the car window, I saw our six-year-old son glaring at me.

"Mom, stop making a scene! Auntie Alona is not feeling well."