Page 77 of Forbidden Property
Aricia Plant
Ifinally have proof that he’s cheating on me. I can’t believe it. The worst part of all of it is the first thing that comes to my mind when the private investigator sends her proof over is: The tarot card reader was right. Like that fucking matters. I gave up everything to move to Buffalo, New York for this man. When we graduated from Fort Valley State University together, I turned down a full ride from UNC Chapel Hill to attend the school that Kennard thought was best for his career.
My hand shakes as I transfer the photos from my phone to the laptop and get a complete high definition view of the proof I asked for of my husband’s infidelity. I can see everything in 4K. The white woman in his arms has her legs spread on my desk while my husband kneels between her legs. My eyes swim with tears as I gaze at the shiny reflection of the camera lens off his bald ass head, a familiar sight in every photo we took together over the past twenty years.
The throbbing in my chest turns nearly deadly. Twenty years. I spent twenty years convinced this man who put his tongue in atwenty five year old white girl’s coochie was my soulmate. I can’t breathe, but I also can’t tear myself away from the soul-wrecking scene unfolding before me from my private investigator’s evidence folder.
What the hell was I thinking giving my life away to Kennard Plant?
I believed for decades that I met my “help-meet” who would guide me spiritually throughout all the trials and tribulations of life. I loved him. I loved him more than I loved anyone and in the next picture on the drive, I see what feels like definitive proof that he never loved me.
He brought that white girl into my bed and gave her the first Cartier bracelet I ever bought myself when I got my first partner bonus early in my career. He pushed me to the point of tears calling me a materialistic woman for caring so much about a missing bracelet and he had me convinced that it fell out of my purse.
Tears well in my eyes as I gaze at the pictures which definitively prove that our entire marriage was a lie. Each one cuts differently and deeper than the first.
After I see my bracelet around this woman’s wrist, I can’t hold back the flood of emotions. The only comparable feeling to this one is how I felt after my father passed away. And even then, you expect death as a part of life. You don’t expect the man you built a life with to throw it all away and drive the humiliation in further by giving your prized possessions to his mistresses.
I can see myself setting this man’s car on fire. If I weren’t a lawyer, I would do it, too. I need to do something – and that fiery energy slams into every rational thought I have trying to calm myself down. Like I said, the emotions flood me and I’m not the type to indulge in my feelings, so the whirlwind comes as a shock.
How did I get to this point in my life? Kennard Plant was my dream man – the black man who would complement my perfect black family.
I’m alawyer.I’m worth so much more than a cheating, lying ass husband. Emotions overwhelm me and even if I told myself that I wouldn’t react this way, the betrayal hits me like a bus. Maybe some part of me really thought this private investigator would tell me she found nothing. Kennard cheated. I keep telling myself that in my head, hoping the reality check will numb my stupid feelings.
The type of shit I see in the courtroom is genuinely sad. My husband Kennard cheating on me with a white woman he met on Instagram is… cliche. I shouldn’t let it get to me and I especially shouldn’t let it get to me that she’s a white girl. Would it really matter if we were the same skin color? He cheated on me. That pretty much means it’s over between us which can’t happen overnight when you’ve been married since you were twenty-one years old.
How the hell can this be happening to me?
I did everything right. I did everything I was supposed to. I’ve only slept with one man and that man is my husband, Kennard. Who I know passed his dick around to at least one other woman. This can’t seriously be happening to me.
I’m… My upper lip stiffens. I’ve been through so much worse than this. Moving to this cold, unfriendly New York hellhole after a childhood in rural Georgia was much harder than this. I sure as fuck couldn’t lean on Kennard.
I stuff my phone in my pocket. This isn’t a ritual of self-humiliation. I knew what I was going to find, didn’t I? Otherwise, I would have never gone searching for private investigators who specialize in uncovering unfaithful husbands.
My best friend messages me, because I made the foolish mistake of telling her I wanted support when the private investigator’s report came through. I foolishly said that because I was still clinging to hope that Kennard was faithful to me. My “best friend” is my paralegal, an overly optimistic mixed race woman named Anisa Rhodes. Her mother is Iranian, her father is Jamaican, and she is absolutely fantastic at handling clients as well as all my problems.
I would never have let myself get close to someone working for me if she hadn’t been my paralegal for a full decade. She’s smart, assertive, and honestly has never seemed to like Kennard very much. I’m nervous about telling her the truth.
Anisa: Did Tamz reach out to you?
“Tamz” is the name of the social media account who conducts the deep investigative research. It’s probably short for a name like Tamara.
Me: Yes. Bad news.
I send the text message before I can second guess myself. I should text Kennard next. I should tell him that he’s a dirty ass animal and I’m going to find out where he hides his guns and end his damn life for embarrassing me. My phone trembles in my hands as I gaze down at it and I realize for the first time in ages that I’m angry.
It doesn’t matter if I try to suppress it, the anger is real and coursing through my body. I need an outlet.
Anisa: I’m so sorry.
Anisa: We should confront him.
Isn’t that dangerous? My hands tremble as I read her text message. Confronting him is a terrible idea. We own a law practice together. If I confront him, our divorce will be in the local papers for the next three years. If we’re lucky enough to get out of the preliminary hearings by then. We work together for a reason – we know each other disturbingly well.
I’m a lawyer. I know how badly confronting him can go. But I’m also blinded with rage.
Aricia: I can’t go to jail.
Anisa: You won’t. I’m coming over.
