The man I had an affair with was the marriage counselor my husband paid a fortune to bring us together-11
Lucas’s Silent Sigh
Somehow, I reached the bedroom. Locked the door. Nausea crested. I retched over the cold sink. Tears, snot mingled. My phone rang. Relentlessly. The screen pulsed: Lucas. The name that meant warmth, understanding. Now, a grotesque joke. A poisoned lure. The ringtone hammered. A death knell. I stared, knuckles white. On the final ring—I answered. Lifted it. Silent. Only ragged breaths. Silence echoed back. Eternal, suffocating.
Time stopped. Just as I thought he’d hung up—A sigh. Faint. Strangled. Laden with unspeakable fatigue. "...Sophie." My name. Nothing more. That sigh… severed my last delusion. Stripped bare the pretense. He knew. Fully. Aware of his role. Did regret linger in that sigh? Struggle? Perhaps a shred. It changed nothing—he was a paid blade. I, the gullible lamb. My throat sealed. I slammed the phone down. Hurled it at the wall! CRACK! The screen shattered. Like my heart.
The Stranger in the Entryway Mirror
Bedroom chaos. Wardrobe gaped. I yanked clothes, stuffed them violently into a suitcase. Frantic. Final. Hangers bent. Cashmere crumpled. Meaningless. A luxury bag tumbled. Contents spilled. A diamond necklace glittered coldly—mocking my stupidity. The suitcase bulged. Dragging it to the entry. My legs felt boneless.
Passing the full-length mirror—I halted. The reflection: wild hair, eyes swollen shut, skin bloodless. Lips cracked. Eyes hollowed ruins. A specter escaped from hell. Unrecognizable. Was this me? The Sophie in white lace seven years ago, eyes sparkling? The reflection grimaced. A rictus smile. Tears fell silently. Splashed cold marble. Dark stains spread. Goodbye, Past Sophie. Dead in my husband’s purchased "loyalty" trial.
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Somehow, I reached the bedroom. Locked the door. Nausea crested. I retched over the cold sink. Tears, snot mingled. My phone rang. Relentlessly. The screen pulsed: Lucas. The name that meant warmth, understanding. Now, a grotesque joke. A poisoned lure. The ringtone hammered. A death knell. I stared, knuckles white. On the final ring—I answered. Lifted it. Silent. Only ragged breaths. Silence echoed back. Eternal, suffocating.
Time stopped. Just as I thought he’d hung up—A sigh. Faint. Strangled. Laden with unspeakable fatigue. "...Sophie." My name. Nothing more. That sigh… severed my last delusion. Stripped bare the pretense. He knew. Fully. Aware of his role. Did regret linger in that sigh? Struggle? Perhaps a shred. It changed nothing—he was a paid blade. I, the gullible lamb. My throat sealed. I slammed the phone down. Hurled it at the wall! CRACK! The screen shattered. Like my heart.
The Stranger in the Entryway Mirror
Bedroom chaos. Wardrobe gaped. I yanked clothes, stuffed them violently into a suitcase. Frantic. Final. Hangers bent. Cashmere crumpled. Meaningless. A luxury bag tumbled. Contents spilled. A diamond necklace glittered coldly—mocking my stupidity. The suitcase bulged. Dragging it to the entry. My legs felt boneless.
Passing the full-length mirror—I halted. The reflection: wild hair, eyes swollen shut, skin bloodless. Lips cracked. Eyes hollowed ruins. A specter escaped from hell. Unrecognizable. Was this me? The Sophie in white lace seven years ago, eyes sparkling? The reflection grimaced. A rictus smile. Tears fell silently. Splashed cold marble. Dark stains spread. Goodbye, Past Sophie. Dead in my husband’s purchased "loyalty" trial.
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