Chapter 31

31

I thought I was ready for this, but when the officer brings Ben out, he looks so awful that I actually gasp out loud. Ben has always been a vain man—always took care to do his hair just right and keep his jaw clean-shaven. Back home, the cabinet in the bathroom has a whole shelf of products dedicated to keeping him looking great. He said it was important, in his line of work, to look good. But now, his skin is sallow and greasy, his facial hair is left sprouting unevenly, and his hair is a tangled mop. When he sees me, his jaw clenches. He lowers himself to the chair behind the screen and picks up the phone.

His first words to me are: “You fucking bitch.”

Not a nice way to greet your wife, but I’ve had seven unhappy years of marriage to get used to it. I give him a tight smile, biting back my retort. Even here, even now, I am always careful. You never know when someone might recognize me. I have eleven million followers on TikTok now, and ten on Instagram. That’s more than a lot of celebrities. I get recognized everywhere I go—Natural Foods, the post office, the gym. People are always coming up to me and telling me how brave I am, and telling the twins what an amazing mother they have.

“You won’t get away with this,” Ben is saying.

I want to laugh. I’m not the one sitting on the wrong side of a prison screen. But that’s the thing about Ben, isn’t it? He can’t help but underestimate me, even now. Even after all the evidence that’s conveniently popped up. The burner phone that was found in his car, tucked snugly under the lining of his trunk. In it, a message sent to Meredith’s phone: “Mer, it’s me. I miss you so much. Please talk to me. I need my best friend.”

The Internet had exploded when that little piece of evidence was revealed.

He pretended to be Aspen to lure Meredith to him, the sick fuck!

Poor Meredith. Poor Aspen! I can’t believe she had to deal with him for so long.

The phone on its own would’ve been enough to put Ben away for life, but like I said, influencers have to be very organized. I also made sure his prints were all over the phone. It’s simple, really, planting prints on an object. There’s a whole wikiHow page with step-by-step pictures; I’m not exaggerating.

The day that I killed Mer, I made sure to throw out all the beers in the house. Then I picked a fight with Ben. A bad enough fight so I could tell him I was going to sleep in Sabine’s room. I waited until I heard Ben rummaging around the kitchen for a beer. Predictably, he went out soon after in search of more beer, and of course he left from the front door, in full view of our cameras. I left from the back door, where I’d disabled the camera hours before. It was bad luck that Sabine woke up in the middle of the night and alerted Ben that I wasn’t there, but it’s okay. I have a lot of practice rolling along when things don’t go my way. Every momfluencer has had a ton of practice with that.

Then there are the messages from Ben’s phone to me over the past few months, sent over Google Hangouts, not our usual chat app. When did I start doing this? When I first found out about his affair, years and years ago. As much as I tried to turn the other cheek, I knew then that he was no longer my rock. At the time, I wasn’t sure what I was doing this for; I only knew I had to document as much of his abuse as possible.

You stupid, useless cunt. I’m going to end you.

I should never have married you, you ugly fat bitch.

One of these days, Aspen, you’re gonna piss me off one too many times and I will fucking kill you, I swear it.

I deleted them all as soon as I sent them, before closing the app. Ben never even noticed; he doesn’t really use Google Hangouts. It fits the narrative—Ben, the charming, manipulative mastermind. Of course he would be careful enough to send abusive texts using a different app. He’s always so careful to cover up his tracks.

I can’t even take credit for the rest. I got the ball rolling, and now it’s snowballed before my very eyes. I hadn’t counted on the other women, but they came out, one by one. Some went to the press. Others, who have more online presence, did their own explosive live streams. The messages were all pretty much the same.

I slept with Ben Palmer. I didn’t know he was married. He led me on. After a while, I could sense that there was something off about him, so I ended things. Thank god I did, because otherwise, I might’ve ended up like poor Meredith.

I came this close to sleeping with a murderer.

He hit on me at a club, but I could tell with just one look that he was dangerous. You can tell, with some men. Women have had to hone their senses for centuries to avoid men like Ben.

I enjoy watching all of their interviews and their videos. I listen to every word and play a game: Spot the Lies. Sometimes, they’re obvious. Did Ben really hit on that particular woman at a club? Unlikely. She’s not his type. But, god knows, I can’t begrudge someone trying to hop on a trend for views.

“Why the fuck are you here, Aspen?” Ben says. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

Funny, that. He’s said a lot to me already. I lean forward. It’s time for me to have the final say. “I came here to tell you not to worry,” I say slowly. I need him to hear every word. “About the kids. The house payments, the healthcare bills, the school fees. Look after yourself. We don’t need you, Ben. I’ll take care of everything else. Like I always do.”

Ben’s mouth stretches into a growl, but I replace the phone in its holder gently and stand. He screams something. I don’t hear it.

The thing about being a momfluencer is, I’ve had to get very good at doing everything with a smile. And I’m not about to stop now. Right before I turn and leave the room, I give Ben my final parting gift. My prettiest smile, not just my mouth moving but my eyes twinkling, joy and victory dancing in my expression. A smile worthy of Instagram.