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Ray’s next words hit me like a slap.
“Susan, you should sleep in the guest room tonight. The master bedroom is spacious, so let Christine have it,” he said, his tone unnervingly casual, as if his request were reasonable.
I stared at him, disbelief tightening my chest. “And what about you?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to remain composed. “Are you planning to sleep in the master bedroom too?”
His eyes widened for a split second, panic flickering across his face before he quickly composed himself. Christine, lounging on the sofa behind him, smirked, her lips. curling in triumph.
“What are you talking about?” Ray scoffed, feigning offense. “Of course, I’ll sleep on the couch. Christine sleepwalks sometimes and this is her first time here. You
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understand, right?”
The lie was so thin it barely concealed the truth. My stomach churned, but I simply nodded and turned away. The click of the master bedroom door closing behind them was the sound of finality, the last nail in the coffin of a love I had nurtured for fifteen
years.
***
That night, the house was cold and quiet, save for the muffled sounds that filtered through the walls. It was 3 a.m. when I first heard them. Muffled laughter, soft whispers, then restrained moans. My body stiffened, every sound slicing through me like a blade. Clutching the bedsheet tightly, I stared at the ceiling, my chest heavy with anger, humiliation and heartbreak.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Reaching for my phone, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. My hands trembled as I pressed the buttons, each digit bringing back memories of a different life, one I had long
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abandoned.
“Bonjour, Madame Susan!” a familiar voice answered, warm and excited. “It’s a
pleasure to hear from you. Have you finally decided to study oil painting here in France?”
tot
I took a deep breath, my voice steady chaos in my heart. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m preparing my student visa
now.”
“Magnifique!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for five years. Paris welcomes you, mon chéri.”
***
Morning arrived with an unsettling stillness. I pushed open the door to the master bedroom, bracing myself. The sight that greeted me was as revolting as the memories of the night before.
The room reeked of stale sweat and
perfume, a nauseating mixture that clung to the air. The bed was in complete
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disarray, the sheets tangled and stained. The trash bin overflowed with used tissues and discarded condom wrappers. The
scene was obscene, a stark reminder of their betrayal.
I looked around the room, my gaze falling on a painting that hung on the wall–a portrait of Ray, one I had painted with love and admiration. Every stroke had been filled with devotion and I had once
considered it my best work. I had hung it opposite the bed so I could wake up every morning to the face of the man I loved.
Now, the sight of it filled me with disgust.
Standing in the garden, I struck a match and set the painting ablaze. The flames licked hungrily at the canvas, consuming it in seconds. The heat warmed my skin, but the fire in my heart burned hotter. Along with the painting, I destroyed two boxes of love letters Ray had written to me over the years. Each word had once brought me joy; now, they were nothing but ash.
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I returned to my room, my hands steady as I deleted every post on my social media that bore traces of him. Pictures of vacations, anniversaries and celebrations disappeared, one by one. By the time I was done, it was as if our relationship had never existed.
Just as I was about to close the app, a notification appeared. A message from Christine.
Curious, I opened it. The photos depicted a lavish party, the kind of celebration I had always dreamed of but never received. Ther decorations were elegant, the atmosphere festive. My heart sank as I scrolled through the images, my suspicions growing.
Then, I reached the last set of photos. Christine stood beside Ray, radiant in a white veil and an ivory mermaid–style wedding dress. Her smile was dazzling, her hand resting possessively on his chest. Ray wore a tailored suit, his expression one of smug satisfaction. They looked every bit
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the blissful couple.
The caption read: [Finally, the one I’ve always belonged to. #WeddedBliss]
***
Later that evening, as I leaned against the balcony with a cigarette between my fingers, I let the memories wash over me. Ray had once promised me a grand wedding. The date had been set, but he had shown no interest in the planning. I had spoken to his assistant about arrangements more often than I had seen him.
Now, the truth was clear. I had been nothing more than an obligation to him, someone he kept around out of
convenience. Christine, his mistress, was now his queen.
As I exhaled a plume of smoke, my phone rang. The caller ID showed Christine’s
name.
“Susan,” her voice was dripping with mockery. “Drop the act. I know you found
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out yesterday that I’ve been with Ray for a long time. So, how do you feel? The wedding was grand, wasn’t it? Ray told me himself that I’m the love of his life.”
I stayed silent, letting her words twist the knife in my chest.
“Why are you still shamelessly clinging to him?” she continued, her tone cruel and taunting. “He’s completely disgusted by you
now-”
“Christine, don’t joke around with Susan. like that,” Ray’s voice interrupted in the background. He sounded annoyed, as if her antics were a mild inconvenience.
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