The first crack in my perfect life wasn't the arrival of the beautiful, blonde Layla; it was the way my mother looked at me as I was dragged away like a stranger she pitied, not her daughter.
It had started like any other day; eerily quiet, deceptively perfect.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the living room window, painting streaks of dust motes gold as I lay on the sofa, trying to grab a few moments of rest. I was utterly drained, physically and mentally, from the endless cycle of housework, but I cherished this exhaustion since it was for him. I was diligently waiting for my husband, Jamie, to return from his work.
The chime of the grandfather clock resonated through the house, seven o'clock. I sprang up, a sudden jolt of adrenaline overriding the fatigue, and rushed to the master closet.
I slipped out of my comfortable pajamas and into the stunning, cherry-red dress. It was silk, light, and moved like liquid fire when I walked, a purchase made specifically to celebrate tonight. The rich color instantly made me feel vibrant, desirable, erasing the tired housewife I'd been all day. A quick touch of deep ruby lipstick at the vanity and a final spritz of my most expensive floral perfume, the one Jamie always preferred.
I walked to the dining table which was a vision of my hopeful romance. At the center sat the towering, two-layered red velvet cake I'd spent all morning baking. Around it, bundles of white and red helium-balloons bobbed gently, their ribbons tied to the heavy silver candle holders. I placed the luxurious bouquet of long-stemmed, scarlet roses which I bought online beside the cake, their scent a heavy, sweet promise of the night ahead. The room practically glowed with my effort, radiating the seven years of our marriage. I can't wait for Jamie to come home!
I snatched my phone from the counter. 8:00 PM.
Perfect timing.
My stomach fluttered with nervous excitement, the kind that reminded me of our first date. I could hear the faint, rhythmic drumming of rain beginning to fall outside, a cinematic soundtrack for our anniversary.
He would be here any minute.
Just then, I heard the familiar sound of the doorknob turning. My heart hammered with anticipation. I tiptoed to the main door, switched off the lights, and pressed myself behind the heavy velvet curtains, the party popper clutched in my hand.
"Happ—"
I was about to shout my cheer when I heard it.
...Kissing noises...
My smile froze. I didn't move, barely breathing. The sickening wet sounds grew louder, closer. I couldn't take it anymore as I pushed the curtain aside and flicked the light switch back on.
Two pairs of blue eyes, startled and bewildered, gawked at me. They were still wrapped around each other, hands entwined.
My heart didn't just drop; it plummeted to the floor, shattering the perfect silence.
I took a step forward, my voice barely a whisper. "Wh... who is she?"
Before I could finish the question, Jamie shoved the blonde woman behind him and stammered, his face a mask of guilt.
"Sera? What are you doing here? Didn't you text that you were staying at a friend's house! Uh... I... I mean... I can explain. This is not what it looks like."
He was rambling, sweat beading on his forehead, but he stopped when I glared at him, a raw, venomous glare that could curdle milk. I raised my hand, pointing a finger past him at the whimpering figure. I finally found my voice.
"Who the hell is this bitch? How long has this been going on?"
"Look—"
He had the audacity to raise his hand, blocking my view as if protecting his 'rabbit' of a mistress from the villainous witch.
"You bastard! How dare you act like I'm the villain when You cheated on me? And on our wedding anniversary, no less, you worthless piece of filth!"
Jamie's eyes widened at the mention of our anniversary. A fresh wave of icy realization washed over me.
"You forgot?! You m***f***er, you forgot!"
The shock turned into pure, frantic rage. I launched myself at him, my fists swinging wildly, hitting his chest and shoulders. Funnily, Jamie took all the blows, accepting them like a dog realizing its mistake.
All of a sudden, manicured fingers clamped down on my right arm, digging her black claws matching her skimpy pencil skirt sunk into my skin. I whipped my head around to face the owner of the hand flaunting her assets from the extremely tight fitted white shirt making the hem of her bra visible. For a split second, I felt a cruel smirk flash across her face before it melted into a sad, puppy-dog expression.
I smacked her hand away.
Lyla wailing, "Please! Don't hit him! It's not his fault, it's all mine! I really like Jamie, and he was just looking out for me since I'm his work wife and_and nothing happe—"
Jamie interrupting quickly, "Yeah! She's just my work wife, Sera. Nothing more."
Work wife. I cringed with utter disgust.
The blonde woman, Laila, straightened up, her feigned sadness vanishing. Her voice dropped to a low, triumphant sigh.
"Jamie, baby, why don't you just divorce your crazy, impotent wife and marry me instead? You see I'm already pregnant with our baby."
Her red lips curved into a wicked, claiming smirk as she placed a hand possessively over Jamie's shoulder, a gesture of absolute victory.