After Our Divorce My Ex Married His Mistress! But A Guest Said Something That Made Him Turn Pale..

We sat in a coffee shop at the station, talking about everything and nothing. Jessica gave me a thousand pieces of advice, from how to find a house to how to be careful with small-town men. She talked so much that I could only nod and smile. I knew she was trying to cheer me up, to fill the void of our last moments together.

It was time to board. We hugged tightly at the platform entrance. «Take care of yourself,» she whispered. «If anything happens let me know.»

«You too, call me as soon as you get there.»

She let go, but her expression turned hesitant. «Hey, Sarah, there’s something I don’t know if I should tell you.»

«What is it?» I frowned. «At this point, what else can I handle? Tell me.»

Jessica took a deep breath and leaned closer to my ear. «Ashley is pregnant.»

I froze for a second. Not from shock, but from the irony. So that was it. That’s why he was in such a hurry to get divorced. That’s why he didn’t want to fight over any of our assets, just for me to sign the papers quickly.

«Ah,» I managed to smile. «Well, double the happiness for them.»

«That’s not all,» Jessica continued, her face full of contempt. «They’re planning an incredibly lavish wedding. My husband heard it’s going to be at the Cresmont Manor—they’ve booked the entire main ballroom. That Ashley wants the wedding of the century to show off to everyone, typical of a shameless social climber.»

«Let them do what they want,» I said, shaking my head. «It doesn’t matter to me anymore.»

And it truly didn’t. The pain had turned into a scar. Now, hearing news about them just seemed ridiculous. A greedy man and a materialistic woman—they were made for each other.

«But I’m worried about you,» Jessica insisted.

«I have to go,» I interrupted her gently. «The train won’t wait.»

I gave her one last quick hug and turned away decisively. I walked through the ticket gate without looking back. I could feel Jessica’s eyes following me until I disappeared. Once in my seat, I turned off my phone. As the train left New York City, leaving the gray skyline behind for the green landscapes of the West, I knew a new life was waiting for me. And in that life, there would be no room for Ethan or Ashley.

I took out my phone, broke the old SIM card in half, and threw it in the trash. I blocked any possible contact with him. A clean break. Goodbye, past.

The train ride lasted for hours, stretching into a time of healing. I barely slept, burying myself in a novel by a favorite author, trying to reconnect with the parts of myself I had set aside for years. When the train began to slow down and the announcer called out the station, my heart sped up.

I stepped off the train, and the cool, damp Oregon air filled my lungs. It was pure and clean, so different from the city’s stale smog. The sky was a deep blue, without a single cloud, and the sun shone brightly, but without burning.

I gathered my luggage. Everything was unfamiliar—the accent, the people, even the smell in the air—but I didn’t feel fear, just a strange excitement. I took a cab to Willow Creek. The driver, a friendly middle-aged man, glanced at my suitcases in the rearview mirror.

«Moving to Willow Creek, or just visiting?» he asked with a warm local accent.

«Moving back, actually,» I replied with a smile. «I’m taking over my grandmother’s house.»

«Well, I’ll be,» the driver chuckled. «Welcome home then. Willow Creek is a beautiful town, you’re going to love it.»

The car left the city behind and entered the countryside. Tall buildings gave way to tree-lined roads, intensely green meadows, and charming stone houses. The landscape was so peaceful that I rolled down the window and took a deep breath. The air smelled of wet grass, damp earth, and wild flowers. I knew I had made the right decision.

The taxi stopped in front of an old stone wall covered in ivy, with a faded blue wooden gate. I paid the driver and dragged my heavy suitcase through the gate. My grandmother’s house appeared before me. It wasn’t a luxurious mansion, but a cozy two-story stone house with a slate roof that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale.

What took my breath away was the garden. It was an explosion of color. Climbing roses covered the walls, hydrangeas of intense blue and violet formed huge clusters, and there was even a small apple tree laden with fruit. Before she died, my grandmother had hired a company to take care of the house and garden, and they had done a marvelous job.

I put the old key in the lock, and the heavy wooden door opened with a soft creak. Inside, everything was clean and welcoming. The furniture was solid wood, rustic in style. A stone fireplace dominated the living room next to a wingback chair upholstered in a floral fabric my grandmother had loved. The late afternoon light streamed through the large windows, casting golden reflections on the wooden floor.

I left my suitcase and walked through the house. The small kitchen with its copper pots hanging on the wall. My bedroom on the second floor with a balcony overlooking the garden. Everything was perfectly preserved, as if my grandmother knew I would one day return.

I opened the balcony doors. The autumn breeze brought with it the scent of roses. I stood there with my eyes closed. All the sorrow and pain of my old marriage seemed to vanish with that breeze. I was no longer Sarah, the betrayed wife. I was Sarah, my grandmother’s granddaughter, the owner of this house. I was home.

After a week of rest and getting my life in order, I started looking for a job. I had a master’s degree in interior design and some experience from New York. I didn’t want to look in a big city, but in Willow Creek or a nearby town. I wanted a quiet life. No rush, no fierce competition.

I prepared my resume and started sending it to small design studios in the area. Luck smiled on me sooner than I expected. Three days later, I received an email for an interview at «Stone and Timber Design,» a small but reputable studio in Willow Creek.

I prepared nervously, choosing an elegant pantsuit and reviewing professional terminology. The studio was tucked away on a hidden alley behind a massive bougainvillea bush. Michael, the owner of the studio, interviewed me. He was about 40, with slightly tousled brown hair and very warm, kind green eyes. He reviewed my portfolio carefully, nodding as he saw my previous projects.

«Your resume is impressive,» Michael said in a deep, calm voice. «But why choose a small studio in Willow Creek over a big firm in New York?»

I smiled and answered honestly. «I came back from my grandmother’s house. I love the peace of this town. I want to do the work I love, but also have time to tend my garden and enjoy life. I believe the quality of work doesn’t depend on the size of the company.»

Michael looked at me intently and then smiled. «I feel exactly the same way. I hate the city. It’s too loud.»

The interview turned into a pleasant chat about design trends and personal tastes. Michael was a kind boss, passionate about his work, and very respectful of his employees. The next day, while I was watering the flowers in the garden, the phone rang.

It was Michael. «Hello, Sarah. I’m calling with good news. Can you start next Monday? We have a project for a small, rustic hotel, and we need someone with your exquisite taste.»

I was so happy I almost dropped the watering can. «Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.»

I had a job. A job I loved in a place I loved. My new life had truly begun.

My new routine was quickly established. I woke up every morning at 6:30, not to the shrill sound of an alarm, but to the birds singing outside my window. I’d walk to the town bakery, buy a fresh croissant and a coffee. The smell of butter and coffee in the morning filled me with energy.

I walked to work; the studio was only a 15-minute walk from home. The path was shaded by trees and crossed an old stone bridge over a small river. My colleagues at the studio were very kind. There were only five of us, including Michael. They gave me a warm welcome, patiently helped me with some local expressions, and always praised the dishes I sometimes brought for them.

Michael was a wonderful boss. He entrusted me with the Rustic Hotel project immediately, giving me complete creative freedom. The work absorbed me, leaving no time to dwell on the past. On weekends, I no longer had to cook and clean for someone who didn’t deserve it. I dedicated my time to myself. I rode my bike along the riverbank, visited antique markets, or simply sat in the garden to read. I started to care for my grandmother’s garden. I learned to prune the rose bushes and plant herbs. My hands got dirty but my heart was at peace. This life was the polar opposite of my eight years of suffocating marriage. I felt reborn. I laughed more, slept better.

On a Friday afternoon, a week before Ethan’s wedding, Jessica called me on FaceTime.

«My God, Sarah, look at you!» she exclaimed. «Are you glowing, or is it just me? Your skin is flushed, your face is so fresh. Does the weather there suit you?»

«I guess so,» I laughed. «Work is going well, the air is clean. How are you?»

We talked for a while. Just before hanging up, Jessica hesitated. «Hey, Sarah… next week… next week is that bastard’s wedding. Are you going to be okay?»

I knew Jessica was worried about my feelings. I looked out the window. The evening sun painted the garden in shades of gold.

«I’m fine,» I said in a serene voice. «Next week I have to visit an antique ceramic workshop. I’m too busy thinking about what kind of tiles to choose for the hotel bathrooms. Wish them happiness. I’m busy planting flowers and working.»

Jessica looked at me for a long time through the screen and then sighed in relief. «Yeah, you’re right, being busy is the best thing. To hell with them.»

I hung up and continued sketching my ideas. The day of their wedding, I truly didn’t care.

That day finally arrived. In Oregon, it was Saturday afternoon. I had just finished watering the hydrangeas when my phone rang insistently. It was a FaceTime call from Jessica. I smiled, dried my hands on my apron, and accepted the call.

Jessica’s excited face appeared on the screen. She was at home in her pajamas, but the background noise was a chaos of music and voices.

«Sarah, what are you doing?» Jessica shouted into the phone.

«I just finished in the garden. Why is it so loud? Are you at a party?»

«No way. My husband is.» Jessica rolled her eyes and lowered her voice. «He’s at that bastard Ethan’s wedding with that tramp. And I forced him to live stream the whole thing for me so you can get the scoop and have your revenge.»

With that, Jessica pointed her phone’s camera at her husband’s phone screen. I didn’t need to see. Jessica’s shrill voice was enough.

«Oh my god, Sarah, what a waste of money. My husband says they’ve booked the largest ballroom at the Cressmont Manor, red carpet from the entrance, imported flowers everywhere, they even hired a symphony orchestra. It’s insane.»

I frowned. «And how do they look?»

«My husband sent me a picture.» Jessica turned the screen to show me a blurry image. «That Ashley’s dress… they say it’s a designer gown with Swarovski crystals, valued at tens of thousands of dollars, and she’s even wearing a tiara like some fairytale princess. And to top it off? She won’t stop stroking her belly while greeting the guests. You know, to make sure everyone knows.»

«What a shameless woman,» I muttered.

«I shrugged. And Ethan?»

«He’s bursting with pride,» Jessica continued indignantly. «With his white suit, hair full of gel. He’s walking arm in arm with her like they’re the king and queen of the world. My husband says he has such an arrogant look on his face, as if he’s conquered the universe. He probably thinks he’s the smartest man alive for marrying a young woman who’s going to give him an heir.»

«What a bunch of idiots, showing off for the cameras,» I said.

I listened to Jessica’s complaints and just wanted to laugh. I looked at my garden, where the red roses were in full bloom. I took a deep breath. The air here was so pure.

«Hey Jessica, tell me what you’re making for dinner tonight.»

Jessica went quiet. «Uh, I’m giving you the gossip of the year and you’re asking me about dinner?»

«It’s just that their story isn’t interesting anymore,» I smiled faintly. «Let them show off. Let them think they’re the best. That’s their problem. I have to put a chicken in the oven now. Michael and the team from the studio are coming over for dinner.»

Jessica stared at me through the screen and then suddenly burst out laughing. «Oh, Sarah, Sarah, you’ve reached enlightenment. You’re right, why worry about those people. Go roast your chicken and I hope it’s delicious. If there are any updates, I’ll call you with the next chapter.»

We hung up. I took off my apron, washed my hands, and started preparing dinner. Their laughter, their luxury, all of that was a world away. And I realized for the first time in eight years that I didn’t feel a shred of jealousy or pain. They just seemed like strangers, and my life was now truly my own.

I thought the story of the wedding would end with Jessica’s call. I had a wonderful evening with Michael and my colleagues. We drank wine, ate roast chicken with herbs, and had a lively discussion about the hotel project. The work was progressing very well, and Michael kept praising my ideas.

But the next morning, just after I woke up, as I was making coffee and stepping out onto the balcony to breathe the fresh air, the phone rang again. It was Jessica. At that hour, it was already mid-afternoon in New York. I was a little surprised.