By the time I reached the Pacific Coast Highway, it was pitch black out. I’d been driving a little over three hours and had completely escaped the glow of city lights. My high beams were all that guided me along the curving road.

A three hour drive hardly felt like much of a great escape, but it was getting late and I felt that driving along the coast at night was a waste of the beautiful view. I kept my eyes open for a place to stop for the night. I could get some much needed rest and start fresh in the morning.

I didn’t know how long I had before Matt realized I was gone for good. I knew the second he clued in, he would be pissed off and cancel my credit cards and access to our bank accounts. I mean, that was if he was even still alive!

Those guys who showed up at our doorstep on motorcycles looked like they meant business. I hoped they really gave it to him. He’d finally crossed paths with the wrong woman.

My only regret was that after putting up with so much from him for so long, when the cavalry finally arrived to teach him a lesson, they’d come to protect some other girl he’d lied to, not me.

Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I wasn’t about to start complaining.

To save money, I reluctantly drove past beautiful, luxury, spa hotels located right on the beach.

What I needed was a modest motel. Nothing fancy. I started to cringe as all the stereotypes associated with motels jumped into my mind. Never in my thirty-plus years had I ever stayed at one.

People do it all the time, I told myself.

How bad can it be?

It’s not like I’m a princess.

I spotted a sign with the word ‘motel’ on it and took the next exit. It led to the town of Pismo Beach. It was easy to see I’d arrived in an adorable little beach town. I found the motel and pulled up outside.

A very young, very tanned, blonde girl greeted me at the front desk.

“Welcome to the Rolling Wave Motel. Do you have a reservation?”

“No, but do you have any rooms available?” I asked, hoping her answer would be yes.

“We sure do. Our drop-in rate is eighty-nine dollars, will that be fine?” she asked.

I smiled and told her it would be. The truth was, I never knew it was possible to get a night anywhere that cheap. I really had been living in an upperclass suburban housewife bubble.

I worried what kind of condition my eighty-nine dollar room might be in but the lobby seemed clean enough so I tried to relax.

As the girl took my credit card and photo ID, I realized I was starving.

“Is there anywhere nearby that’s still open to eat?” I asked.

She smiled and looked me up and down, trying to pair me with the most suitable restaurant for a guest of my type.

“There’s an amazing local winery overlooking the ocean, ” she started, but I cut her off.

“No wine. I do not want wine.”

I’d startled her. I felt bad for snapping, but there was no way I was drinking wine. Even the thought of it made my stomach turn.

“How about beer?” she asked with understandable caution.

When I didn’t snap back she continued.

“There’s a really cool brewery down the way that has an amazing late night menu.”

“Beer, I can do. That sounds perfect.” She smiled and wrote down the name of the brewery, explaining how to get there. Then she handed me the keys to my room.

I turned around, looking for the bellboy to help with my luggage, before realizing two things.

One, there would be no bellboys in my life for a while, and two, I didn’t have any luggage.

I went to my car and drove to room thirty-four. I got out and took a deep breath. I knew it was pathetic for a grown woman, about to embark on a new life on her own, to worry about such a little thing, but I really was worried about finding mouse droppings, cockroaches, rats, blood stains even! The closest I’d ever been to a motel was watching bank robber movies.

I turned the key in the lock and braced myself for what I was about to see.

And … not bad, I thought with a sigh of relief.

The room was fine, cute even.

A queen-sized bed with a less than fashionable pastel-colored duvet on it. Above the bed was a large, tacky, beach-themed oil painting. I went to check the bathroom, which was small but clean. It had everything I needed.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

I’d be okay. I hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of my life by walking out on my rich, asshole husband.

And then I had a flashback to some stupid investigation show I’d seen once about how filthy motel rooms are, especially the duvet covers because they never get washed. They used a special light over the duvets from ten different motels and eight were covered in cum.

So. Gross.

I immediately grabbed two wash clothes and used them as mitts to rip the pastel duvet off the bed. I threw it in the corner without letting any part of it touch my skin. I was so disgusted at the thought of how many filthy men had probably jizzed all over it.

Ironic really, because a moment later my disgust turned to disappointment at the thought of just how long it had been since any man, filthy or otherwise, had jizzed all over me.

Who’d have ever thought it?

A perfectly healthy, relatively attractive young woman, married to a sex addict no less, and I hadn’t had sex in well over a year.

It really does a number on your sex life when your husband is out getting it elsewhere.

Asshole.

I felt a pang of emotion at the thought of him. His cheating started pretty much as soon as we got married and deep down I always knew the truth. There were so many telltale signs.

I couldn’t stand the thought of touching him, but the really sad part was that after years of being cheated on, I couldn’t really stand the thought of being touched by anyone.

I used to be so fucking attracted to that man, especially when we started dating in high school. Now when I looked at him, all I saw was a monster.

I turned on the shower and hopped in to quickly rinse off my body. I got out, toweled off, and grabbed my small makeup bag from my purse. It only had the touch up essentials but it would do.

I applied fresh cover up, redid my eyeliner, and touched up my mascara. I may not have had a change of clothes, but I was relieved to have my makeup bag.

I’d rather die than be caught without makeup.

I finished with a fresh coat of deep red lipstick and used a tissue to tone it down. I did a quick teeth check in the mirror and then, without stopping to think how long it had been since I’d gone out anywhere alone at night, headed to the brewery for a few beers and some well-deserved food.