The Fall Of Edith

Chapter 1, present

Let me take your mind down the path of this story. It won't be an easy path, there are thorny weeds of despair and muddy jungles filled with false hope waiting for us. But don't you worry, just follow my trail and don't fall back. First let's settle here and watch the scene unfolding for a while: The first thing appearing behind the fog and smog of the bustling city of London is a high building, I would guess it more than 20 floors high. It looks shiny and new, even the dirt on the streets around it cannot steal its glamour. It gets even more luxurious when we look inside. Plush cream-coloured carpets lining the entire lobby and hallways. A reception desk with security guards make it look like the entrance of a five-star hotel. There are rosé chandeliers and matching modern wall designs with squares and triangles that seem like they're at war with each other. Let us move down the carpeted hallway and enter one of the four elevators. While stuck in here, waiting to be carried to the 14th floor, we can take a moment to admire the golden rimmed mirror reflecting the insides of the elevator and the spotlights flashing above us. There is no doubt this building is home to very well-off people, maybe even rich. There is not a speck of dirt on the floor, and as we exit the elevator on our floor, we might as well be standing in a high-profile spa. There's a little fountain in the hallway to our right, and above us tiny lights in the ceiling are flashing white, turquoise and blue light. I think I can even hear a tape playing soft, relaxing sounds through speakers in the wall. Down the hallway we go, and yes, here it is, this is what we came here for. To introduce you to our protagonist. The door of apartment number 1402 is wide open and there are two people, owners of this apartment, most likely very well off or even rich, standing in the doorway. Pay close attention to the young woman, for this is Edith, our protagonist. She's standing next to the man, wearing jeans and a childish looking woollen sweater with blue and pink bunnies on it. Her hair is tied in a messy bun with strands falling in her face. She looks like she is home. Now that you know her, I will be of little use to you since you don't need me to guide you anymore. I will sit down here and come back to you at a later time.

"I'm going to miss you so much, my little bee" Michael says, smoothing back my hair, and kisses my forehead lightly. He is all soft and conciliatory now and I don't want to spoil it, so I lean into his touch. I make myself forget that he called me a clingy child less than thirty minutes ago. We had a fight about him leaving me for four weeks for this business trip. That's what he thinks it was about anyways. That I'm so childish and needy, I can't stay on my own. Really, it wasn't about that at all. He said "What am I going to do without you?" in such a pathetic tone, I slipped and involuntarily snorted out loud. You'll fuck your bitches, that's what you'll do I replied to him in my head. Out loud I said "I'm sure you'll manage" and he gave me a look, as if to say You're so immature, Edith.

I know that he always has multiple women he regularly sleeps with on his business trips. I wonder if he tells them about me, if he takes off his wedding ring before he meets them. I've known this for two years now. He was stupid enough to tell one of his earliest "girlfriends" about me. A woman called Meredith, two years older than me and quite frankly ugly. She got hold of his Facebook handle and went through his profile until she found a picture of Michael and me, where he linked my profile. If I close my eyes I can see exactly which picture that is. We took it on our honeymoon in France three years ago. We're both grinning, holding up sea shells. Michael has his arm around my shoulders. Or maybe my waist. The longer I try to project the picture on the inside walls of my mind, the blurrier it gets. My Facebook profile is completely bare, but the name is a giveaway. Edith Sander-Baeumler, and he's Michael Sander-Baeumler. Double barrelled surnames, handcrafted for us. She sent me a direct message telling me about their affair, about how he mentioned me, but said it would be no big deal. He told her "don't worry about Edith", she included sone screenshots of their chats. The woman, Meredith, also apologized, said she felt it her duty to inform me of what happened. Said maybe I already know anyways, maybe I'm alright with it. I found her messages a month after she sent them, collecting dust on my abandoned profile page. I never replied to her, but I was glad to find out. After the initial gut punch feeling of shock, I realized what powerful information I have been given. His wrongdoing is my power. He used to say I'm the troublemaker in our relationship, but I've got the higher ground now. When he tells me how boring his business meeting was and how lonely his hotel room, I have to fight back a grin. I feel so supreme, so much smarter than him.