That morning, I moved through my routine mechanically, my thoughts still tangled in what I'd seen earlier. I resolved to give Joshua the silent treatment—a small, defiant act in a situation where I felt increasingly powerless. But as I dressed the twins and prepared their breakfast, it became painfully obvious that Joshua didn't even notice my cold demeanor.
He kissed the kids goodbye as they sat at the kitchen table, excitedly chattering with their nanny, Madame Dupont. She was a dignified older French woman with a no-nonsense air, hired by the twins' grandfather. As Joshua grabbed his briefcase and headed out, I turned my back to him, focusing on pouring cereal into bowls. He didn't glance my way, oblivious to the pointed silence.
"Bye, Daddy!" Markie and Melodie chimed in unison, their small hands waving enthusiastically.
"Bye, my loves," he replied warmly, his gaze lingering on them for a moment before the door clicked shut behind him.
The sound of the door closing punctuated the growing distance between us, and my heart sank.
Soon after, the doorbell rang—Madame Dupont had arrived. I opened it to see her usual composed self: silver hair in a neat chignon, glasses perched on her nose, and that gentle yet efficient demeanor.
"Bonjour, Madame Ojo," she greeted with a polite nod, stepping inside. The twins rushed to her with excitement.
"Bonjour, Madame Dupont!" they squealed, their affection evident.
"Are you ready for an adventure today?" she asked, taking their tiny hands.
"Yes!" Markie exclaimed. "Are we going to the museum?"
"Not today, mon chéri," she replied, smiling. "First, some piano practice, and then perhaps a picnic at the park. But we mustn't forget our French lessons, oui?"
Their eager nods made me smile despite the heaviness in my chest. I envied their simplicity, their happiness untainted by the mess that my life had become.
Once the house was quiet, I retreated to my home office for a video meeting about Voices of the Forgotten. I pushed aside my personal turmoil, focusing on the book that had become my refuge. The meeting was productive—my editor, Rachel, was enthusiastic, praising my work.
"You've outdone yourself with this one, Melissa," Rachel said, her tone sincere. "The depth of emotion you've captured is remarkable. I'm confident it'll resonate deeply with readers."
"Thank you, Rachel," I replied, a small smile breaking through. "I just hope it reaches the people who need to hear these stories."
When the meeting ended, I dove into another: a discussion about adapting one of my earlier books into a series. It was a promising conversation, and by the end, I felt a flicker of gratitude for the work that grounded me.
Later, I changed into workout clothes and headed to my Pilates class. Pilates wasn't enjoyable, but it was essential—a means of maintaining the figure I took pride in. Genetics had given me wide hips and a voluptuous frame, but my flat stomach and sculpted waist? That was all hard-earned.
Back home, I showered quickly and got dressed to drop off lunch for Joshua—a tradition I'd clung to for years, despite our growing estrangement. I also planned to visit my father, head of the family's private equity firm.
At Joshua's office, his assistant greeted me warmly as I handed her the lunch. My face was calm, masking the turmoil inside.
"Thank you, Mrs. Ojo," she said, smiling. "I'll make sure he gets it."
I nodded and left without waiting for Joshua. What was the point? He wouldn't notice my effort, much less my silence.
I took the elevator to my father's office on the fifth floor, settling in the waiting area while he finished a meeting. When the door finally opened, my breath caught.
Jalal.
His piercing green-blue eyes and warm, dimpled smile immediately drew my focus. His dark blue suit was impeccable, and his hair—shorter now—accentuated his sharp jawline.
"Melissa," he greeted smoothly, his voice like a calming balm.
"Jalal, hey," I replied, my heart racing.
We exchanged pleasantries, and before I knew it, my father invited him into his office. Jalal charmed him effortlessly while enduring my father's endless stories about me. Their banter pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts, and for a while, I forgot about Joshua altogether.
When Jalal and I finally left, we lingered in lighthearted conversation, his playful demeanor easing the weight I carried. But as the elevator doors opened to the lobby, my laughter froze.
Through the glass walls of the company's restaurant, I saw Joshua and her.
Emmadale was dressed inappropriately: a messy bun, a white tank top with no bra, and tiny shorts. She leaned close, her hand resting on his arm. Joshua's posture was relaxed, his face lit with ease I hadn't seen in months.
"Melissa?" Jalal's voice was gentle, concerned.
I forced my eyes away. "It's nothing," I lied, my voice strained. "Just a long day."
He wasn't convinced but didn't press. Instead, he smiled, offering an escape. "You need a distraction. How about this: I have two tickets to Oliver Twist tomorrow night. Join me?"
I hesitated, thinking of the kids. But his earnest smile made it hard to refuse.
"I... think I'd like that," I said, offering him a small smile.
As we walked out together, I glanced at Jalal. For the first time in a long while, someone made me
—————————AUTHORS NOTE——————
Hey my Lovelies! what do we think? why did he have to bring his mistress to work? at his father in laws company? what would you do? cause I.......
YOU ARE READING
Her Awakening
Romantizm"You're a very naughty girl, Melissa," ... "Show me your tongue." Devoted housewife Melissa's marriage is crumbling due to her husband's infidelity, she's determined to fight for her marriage till she meets Jalal a Handsome businessman who worships...
