First, thanks, to all of you.

After that story in last week’s paper, there was a flurry of reaction. An email from my father: Four words. His closure, the need to have the last words spoken to my ex-husband be laced with something other than hugs, handshakes, an eagerness to see him again soon: Have you no shame?

Then, his reaction. To my father, he had the gall to say that he isn’t trying to hurt anyone, “least of all him” and that it would be better, easier to “work on our marriage” if “my ‘support system’ would just stay out of it” instead of “getting me worked up about NOTHING”

Then, the voicemail he left for me, swearing and screaming and asking me why all my family and friends are harassing him. Sending him spiteful and nasty emails about his story. He was just doing his job, covering the news. He’s a reporter, that’s his job.

Then to me, a message with this line: “There is an underlying theme that I cheated on you. If you're telling people that, it's not fair to me. And if that's really what you think, we should move forward with the divorce because this relationship doesn't have a chance”

I let that sink in and got red hot and burned up about it. UNDERLYING theme that he’s cheating on me? If that’s really what I think?

He was doing what he did to me for years. Manipulating me. Trying to put me in my place by discounting the truth, implying that my crazy little head is off on some bender.

And for a minute it sent me spinning. Wait. What? Am I wrong? Did I miss something? Is there some other reason, other than him cheating, that in one weekend we went from seemingly happy to me looking for another place to live?

Nope.

So I waited until I was calm. I sent him a thoughtful and poised email, detailing snippets of the betrayal. How things were those first few days, those days he’s clearly rewritten.

I held back from quoting the emails between the two of them, the ones I found in his inbox, his outbox; the ones I saw them sending back and forth in those first few days:

“uh oh. This probably isn’t good. She knows.”

And

“I don’t want to be away from you. you make me happy. I wish you could just come home with me.”

From her: “I can’t kiss you. I just ate garlic for lunch.”

from him: “It’s ok. I have a toothbrush. I want a kiss.”

My thoughtful email to him, the one I’ve sat on for five months, was rich. It was full.

He responded with “I’m tired. Do what you want”

I read his response and it didn’t make me cry. It didn’t make me angry. It didn’t break me. I called an attorney. I’m ready.

And yes, I did take some pleasure in the gossip I got today: her husband knows. I like to think that he may leave her; she’ll end up with a man who just wrote a “news” story on how to get a blue box from Tiffany’s, a gift for a woman, for $100 or less.

Tonight I’m going out. With a woman who’s a siren, a woman who doesn’t go out before 11 pm, a woman who gets out of bed at 1 am, after she’s washed her face and put her pajamas on, to meet her friends at a bar and stay out until the sun comes up. A woman who is 26 and reminds me of wilder days. A woman who dates a musician and will bring him along tonight; will bring his friends along. A woman who defines style icon.

She’s inspired me to wear the red velvet pants that have been at the back of my closet for years. That I have put on and taken off a hundred times, too self-conscious to wear them out of the house. I mentioned them to her and she said: “Wear them girl. You’ve got the body. I’ve got the lipstick. You’ll be so hot.”

Stay tuned.