The man I had an affair with was the marriage counselor my husband paid a fortune to bring us together-12
Breakdown in a Motel Tomb
Another motel room. Heavy curtains blocked the world. A tomb. The lock clicked behind me. Strength vanished. Leaning against the cold door, I slid down. Curled on the carpet. The suitcase stood sentinel—an intruder. Finally. Alone. Silence screamed. The dam burst. Tsunami grief, shame crashed over me! Animal whimpers escaped. Grew louder. Became wrenching sobs! Body convulsed. Nails tore at carpet fibers. Tears drowned vision. For the engineered "affair". For the clinical "loyalty assessment". For David’s twisted "love". For Lucas’s hollow sigh. For the shattered stranger in the mirror! I gasped for air. Stomach spasmed. Voice shredded. Exhaustion claimed me. Crying out seven years of neglect, loneliness, unseen pain, and brutal betrayal. Tears darkened a patch of carpet. Cold. Sticky.
The Husband’s Feeble Pleas
My phone screen pulsed. David’s texts. Relentless. "Sophie, come home. I know I was wrong. Please." "I was stupid! Jealous! Scared you didn’t love me…" "That assessment… just… a way to fix us! Wrong way!" "I love you, Sophie! Can’t live without you!" "Please answer! See me!" "Anything you want! Don’t go…" Words spilled remorse, agony, abject begging. Each "love" stabbed my heart. Sharp pain. Love? Tested by deceit? Marriage maintained via experiment? Too cheap. Too terrifying. I powered off the phone. Silence reclaimed the frozen wasteland within.
The Cafe Vigil
Days later. Compelled. I returned to that cafe corner. Our "therapy" space; our illicit meeting spot. Sunlight still danced. Dappled the table. I sat in my usual seat. Ordered black coffee. Bitter. Sobering. Time crawled. I knew he wouldn’t come. His "report" submitted. Mission accomplished, right?
How could he face me? Yet, some wretched, foolish ember glowed. Hope for what? His dramatic entrance? A claim it was all mistaken? That the file lied? That his "understanding" was genuine? Absurd. I mocked myself. Coffee chilled. Bitterness coated my tongue. People flowed past the window. No familiar silhouette. Hope died. Good. The last clinging vine withered. Something within clicked. Final.
NEXT >>
Another motel room. Heavy curtains blocked the world. A tomb. The lock clicked behind me. Strength vanished. Leaning against the cold door, I slid down. Curled on the carpet. The suitcase stood sentinel—an intruder. Finally. Alone. Silence screamed. The dam burst. Tsunami grief, shame crashed over me! Animal whimpers escaped. Grew louder. Became wrenching sobs! Body convulsed. Nails tore at carpet fibers. Tears drowned vision. For the engineered "affair". For the clinical "loyalty assessment". For David’s twisted "love". For Lucas’s hollow sigh. For the shattered stranger in the mirror! I gasped for air. Stomach spasmed. Voice shredded. Exhaustion claimed me. Crying out seven years of neglect, loneliness, unseen pain, and brutal betrayal. Tears darkened a patch of carpet. Cold. Sticky.
The Husband’s Feeble Pleas
My phone screen pulsed. David’s texts. Relentless. "Sophie, come home. I know I was wrong. Please." "I was stupid! Jealous! Scared you didn’t love me…" "That assessment… just… a way to fix us! Wrong way!" "I love you, Sophie! Can’t live without you!" "Please answer! See me!" "Anything you want! Don’t go…" Words spilled remorse, agony, abject begging. Each "love" stabbed my heart. Sharp pain. Love? Tested by deceit? Marriage maintained via experiment? Too cheap. Too terrifying. I powered off the phone. Silence reclaimed the frozen wasteland within.
The Cafe Vigil
Days later. Compelled. I returned to that cafe corner. Our "therapy" space; our illicit meeting spot. Sunlight still danced. Dappled the table. I sat in my usual seat. Ordered black coffee. Bitter. Sobering. Time crawled. I knew he wouldn’t come. His "report" submitted. Mission accomplished, right?
How could he face me? Yet, some wretched, foolish ember glowed. Hope for what? His dramatic entrance? A claim it was all mistaken? That the file lied? That his "understanding" was genuine? Absurd. I mocked myself. Coffee chilled. Bitterness coated my tongue. People flowed past the window. No familiar silhouette. Hope died. Good. The last clinging vine withered. Something within clicked. Final.
NEXT >>
POST A COMMENT