I watched them walk away, laughing and flirting like teenagers, my husband's face lit up with a kind of warmth and affection I hadn't seen in years. My feet felt glued to the pavement. My heart twisted into a bitter, painful knot.
Ten years. I gave this man ten years of my life. He's the father of my child.
And just like that, every bit of love I thought we had built together—it all turned to dust.
Tears blurred my vision, and I was struggling to breathe when a soft voice cut through the haze.
"Ma'am… are you okay?"
I turned. It was Julian, standing a few feet away with grocery bags in both hands. He looked surprised to see me like this—red-eyed and shaky—but still reached out gently with a tissue.
"Here."
I numbly shook my head and started walking toward my car.
But he caught my arm, his gaze surprisingly tender. "Let me drive you home."
His kindness just made everything worse. A stranger could show more care than the man who'd promised to love me forever. All those nights I lay awake feeling guilty for almost crossing a line—what a joke. My loyalty meant nothing.
I refused Julian's help and made my way home on my own, my mind spinning.
Mom was waiting by the door, her brow furrowed. "What took you so long?"
Raised by a single mom, she's all I've ever had. At our wedding, my husband vowed to be my family. And now, just a few years later, it's all fallen apart.
"Mom…"
The worry in her eyes broke me. I burst into tears, sobbing quietly as it all poured out.
She listened, her face growing darker with every word. "He did what?"
Before I could stop her, she grabbed my hand, fiery and ready to march out the door. "Let's go. We're going to get answers. How dare he pull this right after you had his baby? This isn't a life—this is a betrayal!"
"Mom, no." I pulled her back, my sadness hardening into something colder. Something stronger. "I'll handle this. My way."
On the drive home, I'd already decided. If he could throw us away so easily, I wasn't going to play the faithful wife anymore. I'd take my child and leave. This marriage was over.
But I wouldn't let them walk away clean.
I called my husband as soon as I got in.
"Where are you?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.
He chuckled, clueless. "Miss me already? Don't worry, I'll be home after this trip."
I'd wait. Wait until I had proof.
Then I opened my messages. Julian had texted over and over.
Are you okay?
Did you get home safe?
Please don't be too upset. Your body is still healing—this isn't good for you.
…
I'm worried. Just let me know you're alright.
The last one was from two minutes ago.
I knew how he felt about me. Before, I ignored it—for my husband, for my family. But if vows meant nothing to him, why should they mean anything to me?
Besides, the engorgement had been unbearable. Maybe letting Julian help wasn't just revenge. Maybe it was relief.
I called him.
"Are you free tonight?" I said, no warmth in my voice. "The pain is getting worse. I need your help."
He sounded surprised but agreed carefully, like I was glass about to break.
After we hung up, I took down the security camera in the living room.
By the time Julian arrived, it was dark. He looked concerned, but when he saw my expression, he stayed quiet.
He started heading toward the couch like always, setting up like it was just another session.
"Not here," I said flatly. "The bedroom."
I didn't wait for a response. Just walked away.
After a pause, he followed.
This time, there was no massage oil. When his warm hands touched my skin, I didn't hold back. Didn't hide what I wanted.
Within the hour, he was flustered, pulling away, hurriedly packing his things. "The blockage is better. We can space the sessions out n—"
I didn't let him finish. I stood up and kissed him.
He jolted, hands coming up like he meant to push me away—then froze when he realized how little I was wearing. His hands hung in the air, unsure where to land.
I almost smiled. "What's wrong, Julian?" I whispered near his ear. "Can't handle this?"
No man walks away from a challenge like that. Not even him.
Maybe it was because he was a professional, but he was still gentle. And almost immediately, regret washed over me. I didn't want to be that kind of mother.
Afterward, Julian looked torn—angry at himself, maybe even ashamed.
I couldn't care less.
"Get out," I said, not looking at him.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just left without a word.
I knew his feelings for me weren't pure. Maybe there was real care there. But it was mixed with guilt. And pity.