My husband, Marcelus, was preparing dinner when he received a message from a coworker. Boss, I miss you. After a moment of hesitation, I replied for him. Come over. My wife isn’t home today. A short while later, the doorbell rang. My husband’s face went pale as a ghost, drained of every drop of blood.

In the spacious kitchen of our luxury condo in Buckhead, the sweet and savory aroma of slowcooked oxtails permeated everything. It was the scent of home warmth, of that happy family life everyone dreams of. Or at least that was what I had firmly believed until that very instant. Marcelus was standing in front of the stove, stirring the pot that was simmering over low heat.

He was wearing the navy blue apron I gave him for our wedding anniversary while humming an old R&B love song. Seen from the back, Marcelus was the perfect image of a successful black man, a consumate professional who also knew how to take care of his family. He always told me that a man making money out in the world is an obligation, but cooking at home for his wife is a privilege.

I was sitting at the kitchen island flipping through an architectural digest, but my mind was elsewhere. The warm yellow light illuminated the marble countertop where Marcelus’s brand new iPhone lay in silence. Its black screen was like a bottomless abyss, hiding secrets that not even I, his wife, the person closest to him, had ever suspected. Marcelus turned around with a radiant smile on his handsome face.

The fine lines starting to appear around his eyes only added to his charm. He asked me to taste the gravy to see if the seasoning was right, then went back to focusing on his complex blend of spices. It was right at that moment.

The phone screen on the counter suddenly lit up soundless, but with a cold blue flash indicating a WhatsApp message. My eyes instinctively darted toward it. The phrase that appeared on the lock screen was short, but it was enough to bring the peaceful world I had worked so hard to build crashing down in a single blow. Sender kaani intern content boss I miss you just four words I miss you my heart didn’t hurt anymore that pain had died a week earlier when I held the bank statement in my hands the only thing left now was deep contempt and a meticulously devised plani I knew that name she was the new intern

who had joined Marcelus’s department a a few months ago. I remember Marcellis telling me about her once, praising her for being quick, polite, and eager to learn. What I didn’t imagine was that her eagerness to learn would extend to her boss’s husband. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing lungs.

The rationality of a 30-something black woman who had overcome countless hurdles to get to where she was didn’t allow me to scream or break things. If I made a scene, Marcelus would invent some excuse, saying it was just a joke from an immature girl. I needed something more.

I needed irrefutable proof, evidence they couldn’t deny. Marcelus kept chopping vegetables. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board drowned out the wild beating of my heart. Quietly, I picked up the phone. The passcode was our wedding anniversary. What irony. He used the most important day of our lives as a shield for his dirty secrets. I typed in the six familiar digits.

The screen unlocked, showing the WhatsApp conversation with the unread message at the top. Without opening it to read, I quickly typed a reply. My fingers, cold and precise, glided over the virtual keyboard. Come over. My wife isn’t home today. I hit send. I watched the blue double check appear, and a faint smile drew across my lips.

I took a screenshot of that brief exchange, sent it to my own phone, and deleted any trace from Marcelus’s device. I wanted him to be completely oblivious when the show started. I placed the smartphone back exactly where it was, at the exact same angle. My hands were trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the repressed rage boiling in the deepest part of my soul. I looked at Marcelus’s back.

He was still the same man with the same devoted appearance, but now in my eyes everything was repulsive hypocrisy. He was playing the role of the perfect husband, but his mind was likely flying off to his young, pretty mistress, if he wanted to act in this farce so badly, I would make sure to direct the tragic final scene myself.

I fixed my hair, composed my expression, and tried to return to my usual state of calm. The storm inside me remained hidden behind a serene gaze, waiting for the chance to level everything in its path. This was going to be a very long night. Marcelus served the steaming oxtails in a large serving dish and placed it in the center of the table.

The intense aroma of allspice, thyme, and beef spread through the dining room. With a cloth, he meticulously wiped away even the smallest splash on the rim of the plate. Yesterday that delicacy would have moved me to the point of hugging him. Today, however, looking at that stew was like looking at poison coated in sugar.

He served me a plate full of white rice and picking the most appetizing piece of meat, placed it on top. With a warm, deep voice, he said, “Eat while it’s hot, baby. I cooked the meat until it falls off the bone.” He even bragged about going to three different markets to find the best cuts just to take care of me the way I deserved.

I accepted the plate from my husband’s hands, making a superhuman effort to keep them from shaking. I brought a piece of meat to my mouth and chewed slowly. It was incredibly tender, and the gravy had just the right kick I liked. But as I swallowed, I felt a bitter, nauseating taste, as if I were chewing ashes. I had to drink a large gulp of water to keep from gagging.

I looked at the man sitting across from me. Marcellus ate with an appetite, offering me sides. now and then and telling me funny stories from work. He talked about a new project, how the CEO had congratulated him and his plans for a promotion this year, but there wasn’t a single mention of Kylani’s name or that young intern.

I wondered how a person could lead a double life with such mastery, being able to receive an I miss you from his mistress and moments later play the role of the exemplary husband who adores his wife. Maybe during our six years of marriage, he had repeated that performance so many times that even I couldn’t distinguish what was real and what was fake anymore.

I remembered our difficult beginnings when we got married. We started with nothing in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of the city. Marcelus took my hand and swore he would work tirelessly so I would never lack anything to get us a decent home. And he kept his promise. This luxury condo, all these comforts were the testimony of our joint effort.

But it seems that as material abundance grew, people’s hearts began to change, too. Satiety gave way to base desires, and the devoted wife who once shared a simple sandwich with him now seemed flavorless compared to the fresh young women outside. Figning being full, I put down my silverware.

I said I was a little tired and didn’t have much appetite. Marcelus immediately adopted a look of concern. He got up, walked over to me, and put his hand on my forehead to check if I had a fever. His hand was warm, but as soon as it touched my skin, I felt a chill that soaked me to the bone.

I turned my head slightly to dodge his hypocritical touch, excusing myself to get a glass of water. I glanced sideways at the clock on the wall. The short hand was approaching 7 and the long one, 12. Time was passing with mocking slowness. From her office or her student apartment, it would take between 30 and 45 minutes to get here.

I wasn’t going to let this golden opportunity slip by. My wife isn’t home today. That spell was more powerful than any invitation. When I returned to the table, Marcelus was clearing the plates. He told me to go to the living room and rest, that he would handle the cleanup.

The image of my husband rolling up his sleeves to wash dishes, which I used to brag about to my girlfriends, now seemed like just another scene in his disgusting theater. I sat on the sofa and picked up the TV remote, but I didn’t turn it on. My gaze was fixed on the front door, and my ears were tuned to any sound from the hallway. A fierce battle was waging in my mind.

Part of me wished she wouldn’t come, that it had all been a bad joke so I could keep fooling myself. But the other half, the colder and cruer side, yearned for the doorbell to ring as soon as possible. I wanted this pain to come out into the light in all its rawness, because an abscess only heals when it bursts, even if the scar it leaves is forever. Every minute passed with infinite heaviness.

The sound of water in the kitchen ceased. Marcelus came out drying his hands with a towel and asked if I wanted some fruit for dessert. I shook my head and sketched a faint smile. It was surely a crooked, forced smile, but Marcellus didn’t notice. He was too sure of his own perfection. Or maybe he had never cared enough about my

mood to notice anything strange in my eyes. The clock struck exactly 8:00 p.m. The apartment was so silent you could hear the ticking of the second hand. Marcela sat on the sofa opposite me and started reading the news on his phone with an expression of total tranquility. He probably thought it would be another peaceful evening with his wife. Or maybe he was already planning what message he would send his mistress.

As soon as I fell asleep, he didn’t have the slightest clue that the storm was about to break right at his doorstep. Ding-dong. The sound of the doorbell broke the silence. It wasn’t a loud sound, but in that space, it resonated like the gunshot announcing the start of a war. Marcelus lifted his head, startled. In his eyes, there was surprise mixed with a pinch of confusion.

He looked at the clock, then the door, and muttered, “Who could that be at this hour?” Then he looked at me as if I had the answer. I remained motionless on the sofa, maintaining an almost icy composure. Stay seated, I told him. I’ll get it. My voice was soft but firm, leaving him no room to move. I stood up and walked slowly toward the door.

Every step on the hardwood floor sounded heavy, like the hammer blows driving the final nails into a coffin. My heart was pounding hard, not from fear, but with the strange excitement of a hunter about to trap their prey. I took a deep breath, fixed my posture, and put my hand on the knob. I turned the lock and opened the heavy wooden door. In front of me stood a young black woman of petite build, well made up, but with a face that hadn’t yet lost its childish air.

She was wearing a tight dress that highlighted her young figure, and in her hands she held a small box with a carefully packaged individual cupcake. The instant she saw me, the flirtatious smile drawing on her lips vanished, giving way to an expression of pure panic. Her eyes went wide as saucers, her pupils contracted in fear, and her face, previously flushed, turned as pale as paper. She froze and her trembling hands almost dropped the cake box.

She expected Marcelus to answer the door. She had surely imagined the scene, jumping into his arms, telling him in a honeyed voice how much she had missed him. But the raw reality that hit her head on was the image of me, the lady of the house, his lawful wife, blocking the entrance with a gaze sharp as a knife.

I said nothing immediately. I simply observed her terrified expression in silence. My silence made the atmosphere turn even more suffocating. Kaani stepped back half a pace, moving her lips as if she wanted to say something, but her throat seemed blocked, as if someone were strangling her. She looked toward the interior of the condo and then back at me with the look of a thief caught red-handed.

I heard Marcelus’s steps behind me. Who is it, babe? Why are you taking so long?” he asked. His voice plunged Kaani into even greater confusion. She looked around as if seeking an escape route, but I wasn’t going to let my prey get away that easily. I smiled. It was probably a smile more terrifying than weeping. And then I spoke.

My voice was loud and clear enough for both the person inside and the one outside to hear, loaded with cold authority. Hello, Kaani. Are you here to see my husband? My question was like a bucket of ice water for Kaani and simultaneously a shock for Marcelus who was approaching. I saw Kaani shudder.

She realized she had fallen into a trap, but there was no turning back now. The door was open. The show had officially begun. Kaani was shrinking like a little bird that had accidentally fallen into an eagle’s nest. She squeezed the cake box so hard her knuckles turned white. stammering, she barely managed to articulate a few words to justify her untimely appearance at those hours.

She said she had heard Marcelus was sick, and since she was passing by the neighborhood, she decided to bring him a cupcake, hoping he’d recover soon so he could keep teaching her. The intern, a lie so clumsy it was pathetic. I knew perfectly well that Marcelus wasn’t sick, and that this gated community was so tucked away it was impossible to pass by unless you came on purpose. But I didn’t correct her.

The fun of the cat and mouse game consists of not killing the mouse immediately, but playing with it until it exhausts itself from pure terror. Maintaining a faint smile, I fixed my gaze on her face, which was changing color by the moment.

Seeing that Kaani was trying to turn around to flee, I said with a voice cold as ice, “If you take a single step out of this hallway, tomorrow the entire company and your parents back down in the country will receive the photos and messages of you two. Come inside. Let’s talk calmly, and I’ll let you keep a shred of dignity.” Kaani stood rooted to the spot, trembling. She followed me reluctantly inside.

I told her that since she was here, she could take the chance to see the house, that the vibe was very cozy. I emphasized that I wanted to formally introduce her to my husband. I elongated the word husband on purpose, as if stamping a seal of ownership on the man frozen behind me. Marcelus had already reached the living room. Seeing me enter with Kani, his face broke down even more than hers.

His eyes were bulging and his mouth hung open, but he was incapable of saying anything. The phone he held in his hand fell onto the sofa. He looked alternately at Kaani and me, oscillating violently between panic and confusion. He couldn’t understand why Kanani was there or why I was receiving her so calmly. I led Kaani to the center of the living room and sat her on the armchair facing the large sofa where Marcellus usually sat.

Kylani sat on the edge with her back straight and knees together, not daring to look up. I turned to Marcelus and gestured for him to sit next to me. Like a soulless automaton, Marcellus walked stumbling to the sofa. Even though the AC was set to 75°, drops of sweat beated on his forehead. He sat as far away from me as possible, as if I were a bomb about to go off.

I started with the introductions. Pointing to Kaani, I told Marcelus that she was that good intern he talked about so much who had come to visit him in the middle of the night with a cake and everything upon finding out her boss was sick. Then I introduced Marcelus to Kyani, saying he was the most exemplary husband in the world, a man who had never disappointed me.

Each of my praises was like a needle sticking into Marcelus’s skin. I saw him shrink. I noticed Kaani shooting a pleading look at Marcellis. She expected a word from him, an excuse, a reassuring gesture to save her from this situation. But the only thing she received was cowardly evasion.

Marcelus kept his head down, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, not daring to utter a word. His cowardice did nothing but increase my contempt, and probably even Kylani started to feel a pang of disappointment. The man who seemed so admirable and authoritative in the office had turned upon being discovered in his infidelity into a pathetic little man who feared his wife more than a lion. I stood up saying I was going to offer our guest something to drink.

I asked Kaani what she fancied. Orange juice, water, or some hot tea? With a barely audible voice, she replied that water would be fine. I smiled and headed to the kitchen. The living room was plunged into a tomblike silence. I knew as soon as I disappeared, those two would exchange panicked looks, but they wouldn’t dare speak for fear I’d hear them.

And that was exactly what I wanted, to let the terror eat away at their minds little by little. In the kitchen, I made noise on purpose, taking out glasses and plates so they knew I was still close, listening to everything. I opened the cabinet and passed right by the expensive Waterford crystal we used for important guests.

My hand stopped at a pack of thin disposable plastic cups, the kind you use for a cookout or see at a water cooler. I took one of those cups and filled it with tap water. The choice wasn’t accidental. I wanted to belittle Kaani through the slightest detail. I wanted her to understand that her place in this house, in our life, was as cheap and provisional as that cup, an object you use and throw away, not worth keeping. I went back to the living room with a tray and placed the plastic cup with water in front of Keelani.

For Marcelus and myself, however, I served tea in elegant fine china cups with gold rims. The stark contrast between the two types of vessels was evident on the glass table. Kaani looked at the plastic cup clashing with the luxurious table, and her face died a deep red from humiliation.

She had understood the message. It was a wordless insult, but deeper and sharper than any slur. I sat next to Marcelus, this time deliberately gluing myself to him. I took his arm and rested my head on his shoulder with an affectionate gesture. Marcelus went stiff as a wooden doll, muscles tight with tension. Through his fine shirt, I could feel the frantic beating of his heart.

The cold sweat kept sliding down his temples. I initiated the conversation with hypocritically social questions. I asked Kaani how the internship was going, if Marcellus was very demanding with her, if he didn’t harass the interns. While I spoke, I caressed Marcelus’s arm and shot him loving looks every now and then.

Kelani replied in mono syllables, not daring to look directly at the tender scene unfolding before her eyes. In her gaze, envy, bitterness, and fear mixed. She was witnessing how the man she coveted belonged legally and completely to another woman. The sweet promises Marcellus must have whispered to her when they were alone became insignificant before this crushing reality.

The air in the room was so thick it was hard to breathe. Not even the soft hum of the central air could dissipate the suffocating atmosphere. I felt like I was witnessing a tragic silent play where every actor strove to fulfill their role with the difference that only I had the script and knew the ending.

Suddenly I changed the subject and turned to Marcelus with an excited voice. I brought up our vacation plans to St. Lucia for next month. I described an idyllic future with enthusiasm, the blue sea, the white sand, the romantic candlelight dinners. I added that we were looking at a lakehouse in the Blue Ridge Mountains to spend weekends growing our own garden and fishing, and that we were already planning how to take care of our parents in their old age.

Each of my words was a dagger stabbing into Kaani’s heart. she would realize she was completely excluded from Marcelus’s life, the future plans, the assets, the long-term projects. All of that belonged to us as a couple. In that picture, there was no room for her. She was just a passing whim, a temporary pleasure for Marcelis.

Marcelus remained sitting in subulcral silence, neither confirming nor denying anything. He seemed to be sitting on hot coals, wishing this psychological torture would end as soon as possible, but I wasn’t going to let him go that easily. I wanted to brand this horrible night into both their memories so they’d feel a shiver every time they remembered it. I turned to Kaani and with a smile threw her a seemingly innocent question, but one loaded with meaning.

Kaani, as young and pretty as you are, I’m sure you have plenty of men chasing you. Me, on the other hand, I’m getting older. I have to hold on to this man so he doesn’t get away. I’m scared someone might steal him in a careless moment. They say nowadays there are a lot of thirsty side chicks popping up like mushrooms after the rain, right? Kaani started and lowered her head abruptly. She clenched her fist so hard her fingertips turned white.

She knew perfectly well who I was referring to. The term thirsty side chicks, though pronounced lightly, was sharp as a razor and severed the last shred of her pride. The words resonated in the air, making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable. Kaani didn’t dare answer my question. She mumbled something unintelligible and avoided my inquisitive gaze.

I could see her fragile shoulders shaking violently despite her efforts to contain herself. The confidence and flirtatiousness with which she had arrived at my house had disappeared completely, leaving only the image of a sinner, awaiting judgment. But I wasn’t going to let them escape that easily.

I turned to Marcelus and squeezed his arm a little tighter, my nails dug slightly into his skin through the shirt, reminding him of my powerful presence. I looked at my husband, and changing my voice to a honeyed tone, but maintaining a gaze sharp as a knife, I asked him about the lakehouse in Blue Ridge that we had gone to see last week.

I spoke loudly and clearly, ensuring Kaani heard everything. I reminded him that our parents had loved the land, that it had good energy, and being near the river, it was very cool. I emphasized that my parents had promised to contribute $15,000 for the renovation as a gift for their future grandchildren. At the mention of children, I felt Marcelus’s body tense up. It was his weakest point.

We had been married for 6 years, but had postponed having kids until we reached financial stability. And now, when everything was ready, I discover this betrayal. But I brought up the topic of children on purpose. I knew it was the strongest anchor, the family and social legitimacy that a passing mistress like Kaani could never give him.

I described with enthusiasm a happy family full of children’s laughter. I said, “Next year was perfect to try for a baby, that at our age, it was the ideal time, and I hoped it would be a boy.” Then I turned to Kaani and asked if she didn’t think it was a wonderful plan. At the direct question, Kaani jumped and the teaspoon she was holding dropped from her hands.

The clinking of metal against the porcelain saucer rang sharp in the silence. She rushed to pick it up and with a flushed face, she stammered. It’s It’s a great plan. I’m sure you’ll be very happy. How ironic that forced blessing sounded from the rival’s lips. I knew inside she was screaming, consumed by envy. She had come here hoping to make a space for herself in our life.

But the only thing she had found was a firm declaration of a future where there was no room for her. The big assets, the solid family ties, the long-term plans, all of it formed an impregnable wall protecting this marriage. A wall that someone like her, with nothing to offer, could never tear down. I continued my psychological attack on the financial flank.

I told Marcelis, “Tomorrow I’ll make the transfer for the down payment on the house, so sign the papers for the title change fast.” I deliberately emphasized that the house would be in both our names. It was a declaration of sovereignty over our assets, a warning that everything Marcelus had was tied to me, and that if he left me, he’d lose everything. Marcelus, sweating buckets, nodded his head.

He wished I would shut up, stop torturing him with those sweet words about the future that sounded more terrifying than a threat at knife point. He knew perfectly well the warning hiding behind every one of my words. Don’t be an idiot and don’t trade everything you have for a momentary pleasure.

The conversation about the house and kids seemed to suck the last drop of vitality out of Keelani. She shrank into the armchair, hugging the glass of water with both hands, as if seeking warmth that had vanished long ago. I looked alternately at the thin plastic cup in her hands and the gold rimmed cup in mine. Feeling a cruel pleasure, I lifted my cup, took a sip, and savored the subtle aroma of the highquality green tea.

I commented on how delicious the tea was, its clear and smooth taste. I offered Kaani some too, but my gaze stopped on her cheap plastic cup with false pity. Kaani, are you okay with just water? Do you want me to make you some orange juice? Water is a bit bland, don’t you think? My voice was kind, like a charitable lady giving alms to a beggar, but with a nuance of contempt.

Kaani denied hurriedly with her hands. No, no, I’m fine. I was thirsty. Water is enough. I don’t want to be a bother. The word bother she used seemed ridiculous. Her mere presence here at these hours was the greatest of bothers. I set the cup on the table. The dry, firm sound of porcelain against glass resonated in the room.

I looked at Marcellus. He was still sitting like a corpse with his eyes glued to the tips of his shoes. I decided to involve him more in this fun game. I told him to cut some apples for our guest. A man of the house should be a gentleman.

How can you have a guest sitting there without attending to her? Marcellis, as if he had received an electric shock, jumped up and went to the kitchen for the apples and a knife. He peeled the fruit clumsily, hands shaking, leaving the skin jagged and in chunks. The man who once carved flowers out of carrots for me couldn’t even peel a simple apple in front of his mistress.

Now his mind was shortcircuiting. Fear had paralyzed all his senses and skills. When he put the plate of apples on the table, I stabbed the most appetizing piece with a fork and brought it directly to Marcelus’s mouth. Open up, baby. Let me feed you. Don’t touch it with your hands. They’re dirty.

Marcelus hesitated for an instant, but finally accepted the apple I offered. The scene of a couple feeding each other affectionately in front of a third party was natural and at the same time extremely provocative. I pushed the plate of apples toward Kaani. You eat too, Kaani. These are honey crisp, very crunchy and sweet. Kaani looked at the piece of apple Marcelus had just eaten.

And then the plate in front of her, as if a knot had formed in her throat. How could she swallow a bite witnessing such a display of affection? The discriminatory treatment wasn’t limited to the cups, but also the attention and care. I was the wife. I had the right to care for my husband publicly and be cared for by him.

She, on the other hand, however much Marcelus wanted her in the street, in here, was an intruder, a forced spectator of our marriage’s happiness show. I saw Kaani’s eyes turning red. She was probably crying inside, or maybe regretting the stupidity of coming here to be humiliated this way. But I felt not a shred of pity.

My compassion died the instant I saw the message, I miss you, on the phone screen. Mercy is a luxury I don’t grant to those who try to destroy the happiness of another’s home. Silence took over the living room again, but this time the air smelled much more like gunpowder. Kaani, perhaps to break the tension or try to recover some of her image as a considerate person in front of Marcelus, cleared her throat and asked shily about his health.

Boss, how is your stomach doing? Does it hurt less? Her voice was low, but tinged with sincere concern. She even offered to ask her mother to send a jar of honey with black garlic from her hometown down south, which, according to her, was very good for the stomach. Hearing that, Marcelus’s face turned livid.

He denied hurriedly with his hands, saying he was fine, that it wasn’t necessary. He glanced sideways at me, terrified, knowing his stupid mistress had just made a fatal mistake. She was demonstrating knowledge of her boss’s private life that far exceeded the limits of a normal professional relationship. I let out a laugh, a short, icy chuckle that made them both shudder. I looked at Kaani with a piercing gaze, as if I could read her soul.

Wow, Kaani, you sure do worry about your boss. Look at that. The wife who lives and sleeps with him in the same bed still hasn’t made him that honey with black garlic. But you, an intern who’s been here barely a few months. How do you know about his ailments, too? I deliberately elongated the words lives and sleeps with him in the same bed to remind Kaani of her place. I gave no truce and kept attacking.

Does Marcellis complain about his pains in the office in front of you? Or do you see each other alone so often that you know even the details of his diet? Kaani was left speechless. Her face went from red to purple. She stammered that she had simply seen him in the office touching his stomach with a grimace of pain and had asked out of pure assumption. A pitiful excuse. I knew Marcellus’s stomach issues were chronic.

To not damage his image as a strong leader, he rarely showed signs of weakness in public. He only did it when he was alone with someone he trusted. I shot Marcellus a withering look. And you? Why do you go around worrying your employees at work? Next time, if you feel bad, tell me your wife.

Don’t make other people worry and bring you medicine. They’re going to think your wife doesn’t take care of you. The other day, you told me you were running late because of a dinner with clients, and your stomach hurt. I see now what kind of dinner with clients that was.

At my hint, Marcelus lowered his head and said nothing. He knew perfectly well what I was referring to. The night he used the work dinner excuse, he had actually dined with Kaani and probably to gain the young girl’s sympathy had complained about his pains. I had just uncovered the hypocrisy of a co-worker’s concern and exposed the raw truth of their ambiguous relationship.

Her excessive interest was proof she had crossed the line, and I, as the wife, had every right to question and unmask that hypocrisy right here in my own house. The clock on the wall marked 9:0 p.m. The cat and mouse game had reached its climax. I felt it was time to deliver the cudigrass, a blow that would destroy the intruders’s morale completely and serve as a final warning to my traitorous husband. I slowly took my phone out of my pocket and left it on the table.

I slid my finger across the screen, pretending to check a message, and then sighed on purpose. The world is so complicated these days. The news talks about nothing but infidelity and scandals. My girlfriends tell me young girls these days are very bold.

They send messages to other women’s husbands as if they were their girlfriends without the slightest shame. I paused and observed their reactions. Kani remained motionless, but her breathing had accelerated. Marcellus was fertively wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. The tension was like a guitar string about to snap. I sharpened my voice even more and continued.

I also usually check Marcelus’s phone to help him with work stuff, and lately I’ve seen a lot of messages coming from unknown numbers. A young girl, by the looks of it, her name sounds very innocent. Must be an intern. She sends very affectionate messages to Marcelis. I glanced sideways at Keelani. Her face had lost all color.

Her lips, previously painted a deep red, were now white and trembling. With a mocking smile, I threw the final punch. You know what, Kaani? Just the other day, I was home and my husband was making dinner and suddenly a girl sends a message to his phone saying, “I miss you.” Some nerve, don’t you think? With the wife at home, daring to send a message like that.

Was she challenging me? My words fell like lightning on Kelani. She looked at me with eyes wide as saucers, terror engraved in her pupils. She had understood everything. the I miss you message from a while ago. The reply, “Come over. My wife isn’t home today.” It had all been a trap, a perfect trap I had set myself, and she, like a stupid moth, had flown directly into it. Kaani’s hands and feet began to shake uncontrollably. She looked at me as if she were seeing a monster.

She realized the woman sitting across from her wasn’t a docel and naive housewife, but a master of psychological warfare. I knew everything from the start, but had acted with total naturalness, inviting her in, serving her water, offering her cake, and then I kept ripping off the mask layer by layer until leaving her completely naked in her own shame.

Marcelus, beside me, was also in shock. He turned toward me with a look of pure horror. He never would have imagined I had read that message, and that I was twisted enough to lure Kaani here and humiliate her that way. My intelligence and cruelty sent a chill down his spine. He realized he had vastly underestimated his wife.

I looked Kaani straight in the eyes. My gaze was cold and contemptuous. I didn’t need to say anything else. My silence was the severest of sentences. I had revealed everything, but I hadn’t pronounced her name directly yet. I wanted to see if she had a minimum of dignity left to withdraw on her own. It was the last act of mercy I would grant her before she left this house. Kaani couldn’t take it anymore.

The invisible pressure emanating from me, Marcellus’s cowardice, and the cruel truth that had just been revealed crushed her will. Every second must have been torture for her, as if she were sitting in an electric chair. She hurriedly grabbed the purse she had left beside her. In her haste, the bag hit the chair with a dull thud.

She jumped up, but her legs wobbled, and she almost fell. Without daring to look me in the face, head down, she mumbled that she had to go. She made the excuse that something urgent had come up at home, that her mother had told her to come back right away, and that she was sorry she couldn’t stay longer. Her voice was cracked, on the verge of crying.

Without waiting for our reply, she headed for the door, running like a pursued thief. The cake box was left abandoned on the table as proof of the miserable failure of her visit. Marcelus made a move to get up, probably to walk her out or apologize, but I was faster.

I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed hard, signaling him to stay put. My gaze hardened, warning him not to do anything stupid in this situation. Marcelus understood my message and stayed paralyzed, following Kaani’s back with his eyes as she disappeared behind the door. I got up and followed her slowly to the entrance. I walked with calm and assurance in marked contrast to her nervousness.

Kaani was trying to put her shoes on, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t manage. I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of pity and contempt. When she finally managed to get her shoes on and was preparing to open the door to go out into the hallway, I called out, “Kelani.” She stopped dead, startled, she turned around with a scared, pleading look.

She probably feared I’d make a scene in the building hallway, insult her, or grab her by the hair, but I didn’t. My dignity didn’t allow me to behave like a hood rat. I walked up to her and whispered in her ear, low enough so only we too heard it. My voice was soft as a breeze, but cold as ancient ice. Next time you come to see my husband, call first.

If you go wandering around here at this time of night, the neighbors might misunderstand and think something shady is going on in this respectable house. And remember this, Marcelus’s wife isn’t always out of the house. Hearing my words, Kaani’s face was left without a drop of blood. She nodded repeatedly like a chicken pecking. She stammered a yes and ran toward the elevator. She pressed the button frantically, as if she wanted to flee from there as soon as possible.

Her figure, small, alone, and pathetic, was silhouetted against the bright hallway light. I watched her until the elevator doors closed, swallowing her whole. A faint smile drew on my lips. One down. The young prey had gotten a good scare. Now, not even if they paid her would she dare approach my husband.

But the war wasn’t over. The main enemy, the one who had caused me the deepest wound, was still sitting in the living room. I turned around and slammed the door shut. The dry sound of the lock resonated in the apartment. It announced the beginning of the trial for the traitorous husband. I took a deep breath, recovered my cold expression, and walked in.

The wooden door closed, completely isolating this apartment charged with deadly air from the outside world. The smile of victory that had drawn on my lips extinguished like a candle in the wind. I didn’t go straight back to the living room. I stayed standing for a few seconds, clutching the cold door knob.

The waves of nausea rising from my stomach were unbearable. I had pulled off a brilliant performance, but the price was a deep wound bleeding in my heart. I turned and walked slowly into the living room. Marcellus was still in the same spot, motionless on the cream colored leather sofa. His head was down, hands clasped over his knees.

His appearance was pathetic, far removed from the sophisticated, self- assured husband he used to be. But his misery didn’t inspire even the slightest pity in me. On the contrary, it only increased my contempt. I walked up to him, picked up his smartphone lying abandoned on the table, looked at him, then at the phone, and suddenly, with a sharp movement, I smashed it with force against the glass table.

Crack! The sharp, violent sound broke the suffocating silence. The phone screen shattered into smitherreens, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, a perfect reflection of our marriage. In that moment, Marcelus jumped, looking at me with a face pale with terror. I crossed my arms and looked down at him with an icy glare, with a voice sharp and firm, devoid of all emotion.

I said, “Explain yourself.” The message saying, “Come over. My wife isn’t home today.” I sent that. Did you think I was an idiot who didn’t know anything? And just like that, Marcelus was left slack jawed, looking at me with disbelief. He didn’t expect me to show my card so fast and so forcefully.

Maybe he thought I only had vague suspicions, but he never imagined I controlled everything from the start. His lips trembled, trying to articulate a pathetic excuse. “Baby, it’s a misunderstanding. She and I are just co-workers. Her coming over today was a total surprise to me. I swear to you, I didn’t know anything.

” He tried to play the victim. His eyes dodged my gaze. I let out a bitter laugh. co-workers. A co-orker sends you a message at 8:00 p.m. saying she misses you. A co-orker knows better than your own wife, your eating habits, and your ailments. A coworker dares to come to your house thinking your wife isn’t home. I moved closer to him, looking him straight in the face, and said, marking every syllable, “Don’t take me for a fool.

We’ve been living together for 6 years. I know you better than you know yourself.” That fertive look, that jump when you heard the doorbell, that cowardly attitude in front of your mistress, everything gave you away. Marcelus lowered his head, not daring to reply. He knew that in the face of such evident truth, any lie was useless. His silence was the clearest of confessions.

I felt immense disappointment. The man I had loved and trusted blindly was nothing more than a dirty liar, a coward, incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. Marcelus’s silence threw more wood on the fire of my anger. I didn’t need his empty apologies.

I wanted him to face the raw truth he had tried so hard to hide. I went to my purse, which was on a cabinet, and pulled out a stack of papers I had prepared that very afternoon. They were the proofs I had been gathering in secret for the last week since I started suspecting. I threw the papers in his face.

The white sheets flew and fell messily over the destroyed phone. Marcelus picked up a paper. His hands were shaking violently. It was a bank statement. The detail of the last 3 months. I had circled and read the transfers to Kaani Jenkins with ambiguous memos like gift or lunch. The amounts weren’t huge.

a few hundred each time, but the frequency was suspiciously high. One transfer stood out, $1,500 from last week with the memo, “Happy birthday.” I pointed to the statement and raised my voice. “And how do you explain this money? $1,500 birthday gift for an intern. For my birthday, a bouquet of flowers and a simple dinner was enough for you. Your generosity is truly admirable.” Marcelus was speechless, sweating profusely.

He didn’t expect me to know his finances in such detail. But that wasn’t all. I pulled out the screenshots of his WhatsApp conversations I had taken from his iPad where he had forgotten to log out. Flirty messages, dates for lunch and movies, and even expressions of sickeningly sweet longing. I threw another photo. It was the mo

vie ticket from 2 weeks ago at 11:00 p.m. That day, he told me he was running late because of a client dinner, but actually he was watching a movie with his mistress. And finally, I pulled out the photo of a long dyed brown hair found on the passenger seat of his car. My hair was black and short. That hair was without a doubt Kani’s.

Faced with such irrefutable proof, Marcellus crumbled completely. There was no way to deny it or make excuses anymore. His mask of hypocritical morality had been ripped off, revealing his true traitorous nature. He let his arms drop and sank into the sofa with an expression of despair. And then he started to cry, tears of a grown man, something I had rarely seen.

I’m sorry. I went crazy for a moment. She bewitched me. Please forgive me just this one time. A late apology and a cowardly excuse, shifting the blame to another. Cheating men always use the same repertoire. I fell into temptation. I couldn’t help it. Seeing him cry froze my heart. I went to the kitchen.

I grabbed the pot with the oxtail stew he had prepared with such care all afternoon. Under Marcelus’s astonished gaze, I dumped the entire contents into the trash can in the corner. The delicious aroma of the stew mixed with the sour smell of garbage, creating a nauseating stench. I turned to Marcellus and threw my final sentence at him.

My love for you is like this stew. Before it was delicious and precious, but once it gets contaminated, it’s nothing but trash. And I don’t eat trash. My act of throwing away the food was like a bucket of cold water for Marcellus, who seemed to wake up from his delirium. He realized I wasn’t joking.

The determination in my eyes and actions announced an irrevocable break. Marcelus ran toward me, fell to his knees, and hugged my legs. He cried inconsolably, begging me not to leave him, not to divorce him. He swore he would end everything with Kaani, that he would even quit his job if necessary, that he would do anything to fix his mistake.

He appealed to our parents, to our six years of marriage, trying to hold me back. I remained rigid as a stone, letting him cry, hugging my legs. My heart was already dead. His oaths now only produced more disgust in me. If he had really valued our six years of love, he wouldn’t have slept with another woman. If he had really thought about our parents, he wouldn’t have let things get to this point.

Coldly, I pushed his hands away and stepped back. I looked at him with pity and said, “Keep the little dignity you have left. Don’t be pathetic. My decision is irrevocable.” I turned around and went straight to the bedroom. Inside the closet was the large suitcase I had packed that afternoon. I pulled it out and threw in some more clothes and my essential personal items.

I didn’t take much, just what was truly mine. This house, these furniture pieces, now seemed stained by betrayal. I walked out to the living room with the suitcase. Marcelus was still on the floor, sobbing with his head down. His whales resonated in the silent space. I left a sheet of paper I had printed previously on the table. It was the promisory note for the $40,000 my parents lent us at the beginning of our marriage when we couldn’t afford the condo renovation along with the receipts in my father’s name.

These $40,000 are a clear debt. Don’t you even think about not paying it. When you sell the house, the first thing will be to settle this debt and then we split the rest. I told Marcelus with an icy voice. Get ready to pay back every last scent. The house is in both our names, but I’m not going to fight for it.

I yield it to you so you can live with your mistress, but my parents’ money. You have to return to me.” Marcelus looked at the papers and then at me. His look was pure despair. He knew he couldn’t get that much money overnight, but I didn’t care. It was the price he had to pay for his betrayal.

I wanted him to feel the pain of loss to the marrow, both emotionally and materially. I dragged the suitcase toward the door. Before leaving, I took one last look at the house. What was once our home had now become the tomb of my love. I opened the door and stepped out into the breezy hallway. The sound of the door closing behind me echoed once more, putting an end to six years of my youth with that shameless man.

Without looking back, I walked with a steady step toward the elevator. A new life awaited me. It would be hard, but at least it would be clean and peaceful. The Uber traveled through the empty streets of the city night. Sitting in the back seat, I watched the street lights pass fleetingly. My mind was blank, but strangely light.

I didn’t cry. The tears seemed to have dried up inside, crystallized into a sharp determination. I was heading to Lysandra’s apartment. My best friend since college, Lysandra was a prestigious lawyer in the city, specializing in divorce and asset disputes. She was strong, decisive, and extremely intelligent.

I had warned her ahead of time, so she was already waiting for me in the lobby when I arrived. Seeing me get out of the car with a gaunt face and dragging the suitcase, Lysandra didn’t ask me anything. She approached silently and gave me a tight hug. At that warm gesture of friendship, I was about to break down crying, but I held it in. It wasn’t the time to show weakness. Lysandra took me to her apartment.

It was a small but cozy place, impregnated with the pleasant scent of lemongrass essential oil. She offered me a glass of hot tea and told me to sit down and tell her everything. And so I did. I told her everything from the fateful message to the theater I staged to invite Kaani home, the confrontation with Marcellis and my decision to leave.

I spoke with surprising calm, as if telling someone else’s story. When I finished, Lysandra slammed her hand on the table with a dull thud. She let out a curse and told me I had done very well, that a cheating man is unforgivable, and that my way of handling the mistress had been top tier, civilized, but at the same time extremely cruel.

Lysandra began to analyze the situation from a legal perspective. She reviewed the evidence I had gathered, the bank statements, the messages, the photos. She nodded and said that with that she had more than enough to win in court. She offered to take my case if Marcelus didn’t accept a mutual agreement divorce.

But Lysandra told me that before getting to court, we had to teach that perfect couple a lesson they wouldn’t forget for the rest of their lives. Divorce was my liberation, but true justice was punishing the traitor. She proposed a more subtle revenge plan.

Instead of making a scene or exposing him on social media to become the city’s gossip, we would attack what mattered most to Marcelus, his career and his reputation. Lysandra instructed me to organize all the proofs into a single file. She said she would help me draft a whistleblower email to send to the management of Marcelus’s company. A mortal blow to his finances and credibility. It would be a thousand times more painful than a couple of slaps. I nodded, agreed.

Our eyes met, and determination shown in them. That night would be the night we planned the final battle. The two days of the weekend passed in a terrifying silence. Marcelus didn’t stop calling and sending messages, but I didn’t answer.

I turned off my phone and dedicated all my time at Lysandra’s house to preparing the special gift for my husband and his mistress. Lzandra helped me draft the email. Instead of insults or defamation, we used professional, objective, and sharp language as if it were an indictment. The subject of the email was short but forceful. Report on internal code of conduct violation and inappropriate relationship between team lead and intern.

I scanned all the proofs, the WhatsApp screenshots with the risque conversations, the bank statements proving the use of his salary to buy gifts, the misappropriation of funds, the photo of the movie tickets during work hours as proof of professional negligence. Lysandra organized everything into a single PDF file of over 10 MBI, clearly noting dates, times, and places. Monday morning, the sky was gray as if predicting a storm.

At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the time when all office workers sit at their desks and start checking their email, I turned on the computer. Lysandra, sitting next to me, put a hand on my shoulder in a sign of support. I took a deep breath and reviewed the draft one last time.

The recipient list included the CEO, the HR director, and the heads of the departments involved. I didn’t send it on mass to the whole company. I didn’t want to become a cheap gossip. I only sent it to the people with the power to decide Marcelus and Kaani’s fate. The mouse cursor stopped over the send button.

My heart was pounding hard, not from fear, but from the tension of the decisive moment. A single click would completely change the lives of three people. Marcelus would lose the career he had built for 10 years. Kaani would lose the future that was barely starting to bloom. and I would put a period on a painful past to start a new page.

I remembered Kaani’s brazen look upon arriving at my house. I remembered Marcelus’s cowardice kneeling and asking for forgiveness. I remembered the oxtales thrown in the trash. The last shred of compassion left in my heart vanished. “Goodbye, ex-husband,” I whispered to myself as I pressed firmly on the left mouse button. sent.

A short, cold notification appeared on the computer screen. The email loaded with the death sentence for Martellis and Kaani’s careers had been sent. I leaned back in the chair and let out a long sigh of relief. It was over. The arrow had already been released, and no one could stop it. Now I just had to wait for the storm to break over the traitor’s heads.

That Monday, the atmosphere at Marcellus’s company must have been as suffocating as the night Kylani came to our house. According to an acquaintance who worked in the same department, “My email caused a huge impact and spread like wildfire in a matter of minutes. Marcelus tried to feain normality upon arriving at work, but inside he mu

st have been consumed by panic. At 10:00 a.m., the HR director called him into a conference room. There, they presented proofs that he had used the corporate card for personal expenses with Kaani and had falsified receipts for business meals. It was embezzlement by the book, and he was suspended without pay pending a full audit. Marcelus stood up with his face pale as wax.

He opened his mouth to try to excuse himself, to say it was a misunderstanding, slander. But the HR director raised a hand firmly, cutting him off. On the table, he left a thick folder with the print out of that very PDF file I had sent. Faced with such irrefutable proofs, Marcellus was left mute. Two security guards approached and asked him to gather his personal items and leave the office immediately.

Everyone was stunned to see how the man, who until then was a respected team lead, was escorted out of the company like a criminal. Marcelus walked in silence, head down, amidst the murmurss of people watching him. That public humiliation would mark his career with an indelible stain.

I, from Lysandra’s house, received the news by phone without feeling the slightest emotion. I didn’t laugh with satisfaction, nor did I feel pity. It was the price of betrayal. When he trampled on our marriage and chased his desires, he himself had signed the death warrant of his career. 3 days later, his termination was made official.

The reason communicated in an internal memo was serious violation of professional ethics and damage to the company’s image and trust. Marcelus not only lost his job, but also entered the blacklist of HR managers in the industry. In this city, rumors fly faster than the wind. Once your moral reputation is stained, especially by a scandal with a subordinate, the doors to your career close almost completely.

The financial consequences didn’t take long to arrive like a giant wave. Marcelis lost his main source of income, but the bank loans kept coming due punctually. The car note, the condo mortgage, the credit cards, everything became a noose tightening around his neck. Before, thanks to his high salary and my good management, he lived comfortably without looking at prices.

Now, just with the monthly bank interest, he was sweating bullets. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was Marcelus’s number. Seeing the name husband blinking on the screen, I let out a dry laugh and changed his name in my contacts to Marcelus Ruiz. I didn’t answer. I let it ring until it cut off. Then the messages started arriving.

At first, they were please asking for forgiveness, asking me to withdraw the report to give him a chance to start over. Since I didn’t reply, the tone changed to accusations, calling me cruel and heartless for having ruined his life. I skimmed them and deleted them all. Cruel.

When he was in bed with another woman while I waited for him at home with dinner ready, did he think about the word cruelty? When he used our joint money to buy expensive gifts for his mistress, did he think about my effort? I had only claimed what was fair for me. Even his parents who lived down south called me. My mother-in-law, crying, insulted me, calling me a bad wife. the one who had destroyed her husband and her family.

She said it was normal for a man to have an affair, that a woman should endure it to keep peace in the home. Hearing that, I felt a bitter resignation for the fate of women. I told my mother-in-law calmly that I couldn’t live with a traitor and hung up. I also blocked the numbers of his entire family.

I didn’t want to hear any more lectures on hypocritical morality. Marcelus had lost everything, literally everything. Wife, family, career, reputation, and now he was drowning in debt. He would wander through that large but empty apartment, facing the four walls and overwhelming loneliness. It was the fairest punishment for someone who hadn’t valued what he had. Kaani’s fate wasn’t much different.

As soon as Marcellus was suspended, she was also called to HR. She entered the room with swollen eyes and a gaunt look, far from the secure and flirtatious image of that night. The decision to terminate her internship contract was immediate. The reason? Violation of internal conduct rules and detriment to the work environment.

Kaani cried, begged for a chance, said she was young, and had fallen into temptation. But in the ruthless corporate world, those naive excuses are useless. She was in a major corporation. Being fired dishonorably meant the doors to her future had closed halfway.

Worse than losing the job was the contempt of her peers. The story of the brazen mistress who challenged the legitimate wife became the hottest topic in the anonymous company chats. When Kyani was packing her things in a cardboard box, no one approached to talk to her or help her. Everyone looked at her with disdain, whispering behind her back. The men who used to hit on her now avoided her like the plague for fear of getting splashed by the scandal.

Kyani left the office alone, carrying her box. The long empty hallway seemed like the path of thorns awaiting her. In front of the elevator, she crossed paths with the same security guard who had witnessed her flight days before. The man’s look of pity was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Kylani finally broke down, crying loudly.

She ran out of the building, leaving behind people’s mockery. According to what Lysandra told me, after that incident, Kaani couldn’t stand the stairs and moved apartments. She put all her social media on private and disappeared from the virtual world.

It was a very expensive lesson for a young woman just starting to take her first steps in life. She tried to trade her beauty and youth for something vain. But in the end, she lost the most valuable thing for a woman, her honor and self-esteem. I didn’t feel sorry for Kaani. She chose that path, ignoring morals and ethics, and the consequences were hers. I only hope that after this painful failure, she learns to live a more correct way for the rest of her life.

Two months later, we saw each other again in court for the divorce settlement hearing. Marcelus seemed to have aged 10 years. He had an unckempt beard and wrinkled clothes. He looked at me with pleading eyes, but I maintained a cold and distant attitude. Lysandra accompanied me as my lawyer. Her presence, professional and sharp, intimidated Marcelus even more.

In court, Marcelus tried to cling to the idea that he still loved me and wanted to recover our relationship, but Lysandra presented the irrefutable proofs of his infidelity, wiping out his weak hope in one stroke. The division of assets was the point of greatest tension. The luxury condo was our biggest asset. Marcelus, out of pride, wanted to keep it. He didn’t want to find himself on the street.

He proposed paying me my share in monthly installments. I let out a laugh of contempt and shook my head firmly. I wasn’t going to allow any financial link to tie me to my ex-husband. Lysandra in my name presented my conditions. Either he paid me 50% of the house value in a single lump sum plus the $40,000 for the renovation my parents contributed or we sold the house and split the money. He of course had to take charge of the entire pending mortgage.

Marcellus’s face, unemployed and in debt, turned white. Where was he going to get hundreds of thousands of dollars overnight? The bank had already started sending him foreclosure notices for being 3 months behind on the mortgage. In the end, he had no choice but to accept the sale of the house.

The apartment, which was once his pride, was put up for sale as an opportunity below market price to get a quick sale. After paying off the mortgage, paying me back my share and my parents’ $40,000, Marcelus was left with barely any money, he signed the divorce papers with a trembling hand. His crooked signature put the period on 6 years of marriage.

He walked out of the courthouse empty-handed, both literally and figuratively, without a house, without a car. He had already sold it to pay debts, without a wife, and without a job. He stood alone in the sunny courtyard of the courthouse, watching in silence as I left in a cab. The price was very high, but it was entirely his fault. I received the money from the house sale and the asset division.

It was a considerable sum, enough to start a new life. Instead of a big apartment like before, I chose a smaller, cozy condo in a quiet neighborhood full of trees. I decorated my new home to my taste. Gone were the ostentatious, flashy furniture pieces to satisfy Marcellus’s vanity. In their place, I put soft beige tones, fresh plants, and a simple solid wood bookshelf.

Every corner of the house reflected my personality and transmitted an unusual piece. Tonight, I’ve invited Lysandra to the housewarming. We are sitting on the balcony with a cool breeze, drinking red wine, and gazing at the illuminated city. Lysandra toasted to my liberation, to having gotten out of that disaster.

I smiled and clinkedked my glass with that of my valuable friend. Without her, without her strength and determination, I probably wouldn’t have weathered this storm with such fortitude. My phone vibrated with a notification. My direct deposit hit. I’ve been promoted to team lead after successfully leading a major project.

The intense work has helped me gradually distance myself from the pain of the past. I opened Facebook and saw a message from a stranger. Her profile picture was a sunflower in full bloom. She was thanking me. Turns out Lysandra had shared my story anonymously on a women’s forum to alert others, changing all names and personal details.

The woman told me that reading my story had given her the courage to leave her husband, who had been mistreating her and cheating on her for years. Reading the message, I felt a strange warmth in my heart. My pain hadn’t been entirely useless. It had become motivation and a lesson for other women navigating a sea of suffering.

I took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air of the autumn night. The past remained closed behind the courthouse doors. Now before me extends a wide sky full of hope. I’m Ayana. I’m 32 years old. I’m single, independent, and happy. I smiled and took a sip of wine. The bitter taste of the wine and the sweet aftertaste it leaves in the throat resemble my life.

Now I suppose you have to go through the bitterness to be able to savor the sweetness of freedom.