"Ms. Fatima... Ms. Fatima."
I was knocked out of my thoughts by my driver's voice. Slowly, I lifted my head and caught his eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Is everything okay? We've been outside in this car for almost four hours... are we waiting on someone?" he asked, his tone cautious but concerned.
I didn't answer. My mind was somewhere else entirely.
He tried again. "I didn't know we were staying out late today. I... I promised my little girl I'd make her tennis competition." He glanced down at his watch, his voice soft, almost apologetic.
Again, I ignored him.
It was already dark now, probably close to 8 p.m. I had been sitting in this car since five, completely consumed by my thoughts. And the truth hit me like a knife in the chest.
This whole time, it was her.
I had known deep down that he was cheating... I just never knew who. I always imagined it would be a doctor, a lawyer, someone who had their life together. But my assistant?
Oh, he was low-down and dirty.
My stomach twisted as questions flooded my mind. How long had it been going on? Had he brought her into my home... into my bed? She was around so much—around my kids, around my business. Around me.
I stared down at the massive diamond ring on my hand, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. My throat tightened.
For better or worse, right?
A hollow laugh escaped my lips, loud and sharp in the silence of the car.
"Here," I said abruptly, yanking the 1.2 million-dollar ring off my finger. My voice was rough, cold.
I leaned forward and pressed it into his palm. "Give this to your little champion tonight. It's worth a lot."
"Ms. Fatima... I can't—" Adam stammered, his eyes wide as he tried to hand the ring back.
I locked eyes with him, my expression unreadable. "Mr. Adam, do you believe in love?"
"Yes... yes, I do," he answered quickly, almost nervously.
"Well... I don't."
Before he could respond, I shoved the door open and stepped out of the black truck, the evening air hitting my face like a slap.
"You have a good night," I added flatly, not looking back.
The gravel crunched under my heels as I walked slowly up the long driveway. The house loomed in front of me, tall and glowing with warm light from the windows. To anyone else, it would look like a dream—this big, beautiful home I built with him. But to me, it felt cold, like a mausoleum holding all the ghosts of my marriage.
I tilted my head up and studied the front door I had walked through a thousand times before. My voice was low, bitter, as I spoke to myself.
"I worked so hard for this... I fought through everything to make this house a home. And for what? For him to disrespect me in it?"
I let out a shaky breath, my chest tightening. "He really brought her into my world. Around my kids... around my life... like I wouldn't find out."
I paused halfway up the steps, staring at the manicured flowerbeds I had planted myself. "This house used to feel like safety," I whispered, almost to the night air. "Now it just feels like a lie with walls."
I looked up at the second-floor windows where the curtains swayed gently. "Do you even know what you did to me?" I muttered under my breath, my voice trembling with anger. "You turned the only place I should've felt secure into a battlefield."
A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I wiped it away quickly, almost angrily. "No more," I said softly but firmly.
Straightening my back, I pushed forward, each step heavier than the last. I could feel Adam's eyes still on me from the car, probably wondering why I was so calm after giving him a million-dollar ring.
But he didn't know.
Nobody knew the depth of betrayal sitting heavy in my chest.
And when I opened that door tonight, I promised myself... it would be the last time I ever walked into this house the same woman.
I stepped into the house and immediately saw the maids quietly moving around the living room, folding blankets and wiping down tables. The house was spotless, as usual, but I knew the kids had to already be asleep—bedtime had passed hours ago.
One of the maids looked up and smiled softly. "Good evening, Mrs. Fatima. Do you need—"
I kept walking. I didn't have it in me to exchange pleasantries. Not tonight. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I made my way toward the staircase.
"Mrs. Fatima?" another one tried again, but I didn't even glance their way.
Up the stairs. Step after step. My body moved like it was on autopilot, but my mind... my mind was raging.
When I reached my bedroom door, I stopped and stood there for a moment, just staring at it. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like the door could hear it. Everything on the other side of this door is a lie, I thought bitterly.
I closed my eyes for a second and breathed deep. How did we even get here?
Finally, I opened the door and stepped into the room.
The first thing I heard was the sound of water running.
I didn't even have to guess. I already knew.
He was in the tub, probably watching the game on his tablet with a glass of his favorite bourbon on the edge of the tub. That was his thing—always unwinding like a king while I held everything else together.
I sighed and muttered to myself, "I know everything about him... what he eats, how he sleeps, what makes him happy, what makes him mad... but he doesn't even know me. Doesn't know what I like, what I want. He's never cared to ask."
I walked into the bathroom slowly, and there he was, leaning back in the tub like life was perfect. When he looked up and saw me, a smile tugged at his lips.
"Hey, baby," he said warmly.
I didn't even hear him. Or rather, I refused to.
I walked straight past him to the mirror, staring at my own reflection. My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the tile floor with a soft thud.
He looked at me, concern growing in his eyes. "Fatima... is everything okay?"
I turned and locked eyes with him. That was when the first tear rolled down my cheek.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but I was already moving.
There was a blowdryer plugged in on the counter, the cord stretched long enough to reach the tub. My hand gripped it tight, and before he could even process what was happening, I was holding it over the water.
"FATIMA! WHAT THE HELL?!" he yelled, panic lacing his voice as he sat up straight in the tub, splashing water.
"WHO IS IT?" I screamed, my voice cracking as tears poured down my face.
"W-what are you talking about?! I don't know what you mean!"
"WHO?!" I pressed the blowdryer closer, and he jerked back against the edge of the tub, water spilling over the sides.
"Baby, please! Put it down!"
"Don't 'baby' me!" My hands were shaking, my tears unstoppable. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't know what you've been doing behind my back? I thought you could change! I believed you!"
He shook his head violently. "Fatima, I'm not—"
I shoved the blowdryer even closer, and he flinched hard. "TELL ME WHO!"
"Okay, okay, okay!" he shouted, fear in his eyes. "It's Brianna! It's Brianna!"
I froze.
"I knew it," I whispered, my voice hollow. "I knew it was her."
I stared at him for a long moment, the betrayal twisting in my chest like a knife. Then I lifted my head and screamed from the bottom of my soul, "I WANT A DIVORCE!"
And with that, I dropped the blowdryer.
But he was fast. He leapt out of the tub just as it hit the water, the crackle of electricity filling the bathroom for a split second.
"You lost your damn mind!" he yelled, dripping wet, grabbing a towel. "We are married, Fatima!"
I stared at him, my tears finally drying into cold rage. "And you signed a prenup, remember?"
His face froze.
"Everything you thought you had?" I stepped toward him, my voice low, deadly. "You're about to lose it all."
He stood there dripping wet, clutching the towel to his waist, his chest rising and falling. His lips trembled as he wiped the water from his face.
"Fatima..." his voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I swear to God I'm sorry. Temptation... it—it took over. It was a mistake. I know it was a mistake!"
Tears streamed down his face, and he reached a hand toward me, shaking. "Please. I know I messed up, baby. But you're my heart. Please don't leave me."
I stared at him in silence, my mind screaming louder than his words. Look at him. Pathetic. Crying now, but he wasn't crying when he was fucking my assistant.
He kept begging. "I'll do anything, Fatima. I'll go to counseling, I'll... I'll cut her off for good. I promise I'll make this right."
My jaw tightened. He looked so pitiful, so small in that moment.
I walked toward him slowly, my face blank.
Then I slapped him.
CRACK.
His head snapped to the side.
I slapped him again.
And again.
Tears blurred my vision, but my hands wouldn't stop. "I ALMOST DIED!" I screamed, each word sharper than the last as I pounded my fists into his chest. "I almost died, and you were out fucking my assistant! My BROKE-ASS assistant!"
He stumbled back but I didn't let up, shoving and hitting him as my rage spilled out. "You'll fuck anything that moves! Anything! Do you even care about me? About our kids? About this family?"
"Stop—Fatima, stop!" he grabbed my wrists mid-swing, pinning me hard against the wall. My back hit the cold plaster, and I gasped.
He held me there, his eyes red and desperate. "I don't want a divorce! We have kids, Fatima. We have a family!"
"We had a family," I shot back, my voice trembling with fury.
"Please!" he begged, his forehead pressing against mine, his tears mixing with mine. "Please don't make me leave my family. Please don't take my kids from me."
I glared up at him, my jaw clenched. "Get. Out."
It was like a light switched off in his eyes. His face hardened, the remorse vanishing as quickly as it came.
"My name is on the deed," he said coldly, his voice suddenly laced with arrogance. "Or did you forget?"
I froze, my fists still trembling in his grip.
"We're married," he continued, his tone sharper now. "I don't need your money. But this house? This is our house. And I'm not going anywhere."
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
"I'll stay in the guest room. I'll take care of my kids like I always have. And maybe... maybe you'll see I'm serious about fixing this. Maybe I'll earn your trust again."
His words made my stomach turn, the manipulation dripping from every syllable.
I stared at him in disgust, the urge to scream building in my throat, but I bit it back.
His words hung in the air like a knife to my chest. I felt my body go weak, my legs trembling beneath me. Before I could stop it, I sank down to the cold bathroom floor, my back sliding against the wall until I was sitting there, broken.
He knelt down, reaching a hand toward me, his voice soft now. "Fatima, please... I'm sorry, baby. Let me—"
"GET OUT!" I screamed so loud it felt like it shook the walls. My voice was hoarse, filled with all the pain I had been holding in for years.
He froze.
"Don't you dare touch me," I whispered through gritted teeth, staring at the floor.
For a moment, I thought he'd argue again. But instead, he stood there silently, clutching the towel around his waist. And then... he left.
I heard his footsteps retreat, the bathroom door closing softly behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I leaned my head back against the wall and finally let the sobs take over. They came hard, deep, shaking my entire body. My chest hurt like someone had ripped it open.
And then, without even trying, my mind started flashing through my entire life in a single blur—every sacrifice, every time I put myself last, every memory of loving him when he didn't deserve it, every smile from my kids, every tear I'd swallowed to keep the family together.
I thought of the little girl I used to be and how far I had come... and how I had let myself end up here.
The house was quiet now. Too quiet.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, pressing my forehead against them, and whispered softly to myself, "What am I even doing?"
But there was no answer. Just the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I sat on the cold floor, completely and utterly alone.