𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 26: "𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒖𝒔"

୨୧
France, Paris
Therapy
Omniscient
──── ୨୧ ────

Shawn and Beyoncé sat side by side in the therapist's office, the silence between them heavy and suffocating. Neither one looked at the other, their bodies stiff and tense. The ticking of the wall clock filled the void, each second dragging on painfully, the weight of their unspoken words pressing down on them. The therapist glanced between them, waiting for one of them to start.

“So,” the therapist began gently, her voice neutral, “Shawn, you mentioned you wanted to bring something up today?”

Shawn exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together before leaning forward. His face was a mix of frustration and anger, but there was something else too—pain, deep and raw. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tight. “A week ago, my wife and I were supposed to go visit my mother. Blue was already staying with Beyoncé’s mom, so it was just supposed to be the two of us.”

He paused, his eyes flicking over to Beyoncé, who remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the floor. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“But she didn’t want to come with me,” Shawn continued, his voice growing harder. “She gave me some excuse about needing to catch up on work or whatever. So I went alone, no big deal. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.”

He sat back, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched as he remembered what had happened next.

“I got halfway to the airport, and I realized I’d forgotten my passport. So I turned around, went back to the house to get it.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s when I noticed it. Two wine glasses on the kitchen counter. One had wine, and the other had cranberry juice. Cranberry juice. And I know damn well Beyoncé doesn’t drink cranberry juice, she's too much of an alcoholic.”

The therapist nodded, her face remaining impassive, encouraging him to continue.

“And then,” Shawn said, his voice dropping lower, anger simmering beneath the surface, “there were these pink and red Louboutins just kicked off by the door. They weren’t hers. She would’ve shown me if she’d gotten new shoes—she always does, gives me the whole damn haul of whatever I bought her.”

His fists clenched in his lap, his knuckles white as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I knew something was off. So I went upstairs.”

Beyoncé flinched almost imperceptibly at that, her body stiffening further as she kept her gaze averted.

Shawn’s voice cracked slightly as he recalled the moment. “I heard it. The sounds. I know those sounds.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “I’ve heard them for years. The moaning. Her moaning. I thought maybe—maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

He swallowed hard, his voice trembling with fury and hurt. “But then I opened the door. And there she was.”

The therapist’s brow furrowed slightly, but she remained silent, letting him get it out.

“There she was,” Shawn repeated, his voice breaking. “On top of her. Onika. Both of them… naked. Beyoncé didn’t even notice I was there.” His fists unclenched as he ran his hands over his face, as if trying to erase the image from his mind. “They were… they were so into it, I didn’t even exist.”