Married to a powerful businessman feared all-over Portland, Mia Kingston has a reputation to uphold. As the CEO of MK, her own lingerie brand, everyone believes she has everything, including the perfect marriage most women envy.
She's beautiful, s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I wish this was new, but cruelly this is a poignant repetition of the same gloomy sonata on a cold winter night that a lonely woman wishes to be with that special someone—someone with a warm body and deep voice enough to put her to sleep.
"Ah, I'm gonna come! Don't stop, I'm gonna come!"
It's a flashback of the same offense my husband has committed once, or many times without my knowledge, and then promised that it was a silly moment of weakness, that it was never ever going to happen again. Bended on his knees, he swore to me that he's changed.
"Shiiiiiit! Arghhhhh! Suck me deep, baby!"
But I forgot one important detail that my mom told me once. That a cheating man can change, but his behavior will never change. He may stop but he never quits. And now I believe her, for this man I'm seeing right now will never be the man I thought he was.
And now what do I do now? My breath quickens. I want to burst in through the door, curse at them both, throw things around, and kick their rotten ass like a mad woman I think I am right now—just as I did a few months back—but strangely my body refrains me from moving today.
I swallow tightly, unable to believe what I'm seeing. My shaky hand frees the doorknob, and gently I fall back in my steps, eyes terrified, breath heavy and fickle. My knees feel weak, my strength too little to hold me strong, and for once I feel like falling.
His voice keeps replaying in my head as I turn around slowly to proceed being the fool I am. I don't have the courage to fight this battle anymore. God, I'm too tired to even confront them as I should, so I choose to lay low, to walk away without making a scene.
Pain, anger, and disappointment bunch inside me, and my blood boils in rampage until I can't move. Tears brim in my eyes, but crying feels like less of an option. I feel stabbed in the heart, my expectations thwarted, and my chest is so tight that I can't breathe.
I don't realize that I'm already on the staircase until the handrails become my only support. I grip them tightly, molding against them, for it's the only thing I can hold onto so I don't fall. The sickling sensation from this morning surges back, turning my body morbid.
Vision blurred, head spinning, nothing seems clear and I want to give in to the darkness graying the daylight that bathes the grand foyer. Is it my breakpoint? Because I don't think I can be any braver, and falling becomes my only hope if I want this pain to end.
But who's gonna catch me when I fall? This has been the only reason why I had to always be strong—no matter what—because if I fall, I break, and I'm not ready to become pieces of a broken woman. I tighten my grip on the handrails, taking another step down, carefully, breathing heavily.
But no, I can't do this! My head's too heavy.
And suddenly the main door flies open. Imelda? Butler Lucas? I lift my cloudy gaze up, and the person who walks in turns to be that faint light at the end of the tunnel. I hardly see him perfectly, but I can tell that he's the one, and soon he glances up at me.
