I knew exactly what June wanted—and I wasn't ready to give it to her.
She wanted to see me crumble.
She wanted to watch the confident wife lose her footing, to see my voice shake when her name was mentioned, to hear fear and insecurity drip from my words. She wanted proof that she still had power. That she could still reach into my home, my marriage, my mind—and rearrange everything.
And I refused.
I refused to give her the satisfaction.
I made up my mind that no matter what happened, I would never let June see me in pain or regret. I would not let her know that her existence had unsettled my nights or stolen my peace. Even if my heart shattered in silence, I would not bleed where she could see it.
Albert was lusting after her body.
That truth sat heavily in my chest.
If that was what he wanted, then he should have ended up with her. He should have chosen her from the start. Why marry me—why look me in the eye and promise forever—only to return to her like unfinished business?
I didn't understand it.
And the more I tried to, the more it hurt.
I had loved Albert. Deeply. Honestly. I had cared for him in ways that didn't announce themselves. I loved him quietly, consistently, without conditions. I nurtured our home, protected our values, defended him even when he wasn't present to hear it.
I made sure never to disrespect him.
Not in words.
Not in actions.
Not even in moments of anger.
To me, that was enough. I believed that if I held up my end—if nothing went wrong from my side—then our marriage would stand.
I was wrong.
Albert stayed out late again that night.
But something had changed in me.
Instead of waiting on the bed, I lay on the couch. Instead of pacing, I slept. The television murmured in the background, its glow flickering across the walls, but I wasn't paying attention.
Earlier, I had sent him a message.
I'll leave the door unlocked. I'm going to bed.
The message stayed unread.
I wasn't surprised.
Time passed without meaning. Sleep came easily, and that scared me more than the waiting ever had. Somewhere between exhaustion and resignation, I drifted off.
Then I heard the door.
The sound was familiar, yet distant—like something that belonged to another life. Heavy footsteps followed, uneven, careless. Albert walked in smelling faintly of alcohol.
Not too drunk. Just enough.
I opened my eyes slowly and looked at him.
"Welcome," I said calmly.
He stopped mid-step.
For a second, he just stared at me. His face carried confusion, almost disappointment—like he had walked in expecting an argument and found nothing.
That was all I said.
He studied me closely, his brows knitting together.
"You're not going to ask why I'm late?" he asked.
I shifted slightly on the couch. "Why?" I replied quietly. "So you can lie to me? Or tell me it was nothing serious?"
"Susan," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're assuming—"
"It's fine this way," I interrupted, turning my back to him. "Really."
My heart pounded violently, but my voice stayed steady. I already knew where he had been. I didn't need explanations. I didn't want details. I didn't want my mind filling in pictures I would never forget.
It's fine, I whispered to myself.
You're doing well.
Albert stood there longer than I expected. I could feel his eyes on my back, weighing me, trying to read what I wasn't saying.
"You've changed," he finally said.
I didn't respond.
He exhaled slowly—relief slipping into his posture. He loosened his collar, pulled at his shirt, and walked into the bathroom. The door shut quietly behind him.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep claimed me fully this time.
Kim didn't forget her promise.
She meant it when she said she would find out the truth about June.
A few days later, she went to Prestige Bank just minutes before closing time. She positioned herself across the street, pretending to scroll through her phone, watching carefully.
When June finally stepped out, Kim followed.
Traffic ruined everything that evening. The road was packed, horns blaring, frustration thick in the air. June branched into a supermarket unexpectedly, cutting the journey short.
Kim sighed and gave up.
She called me that night.
"Today was a disaster," she laughed. "Traffic had other plans."
I laughed too—surprised by how real it sounded.
"We'll try again," I said.
"Oh, we definitely will," Kim replied.
And she did.
The following week, Kim tried again.
This time, she followed June all the way to her house.
An estate.
One of those quiet, well-guarded estates where wealth announced itself subtly. Smooth roads. Tall gates. Perfectly trimmed lawns.
Kim parked a few houses away and observed.
She took note of everything—the security post, the cars, the structure of the building.
June was doing very well.
Kim called me immediately.
"Susan," she said. "Her house is serious."
My chest tightened. "Tell me everything."
"Gated estate. Clean. Quiet. She's comfortable—very comfortable."
I closed my eyes, leaning back into the chair.
Kim kept talking, describing the environment in detail. I listened, absorbing every word, every implication.
"Well… thank you," I said softly. "That's enough."
I was about to hang up when Kim suddenly gasped.
"Wait."
My heart skipped. "What is it?"
"Girl," she whispered. "Your man is here."
The world stopped.
"What?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Albert?"
"Yes. Albert," she confirmed. "He just pulled into the driveway."
My hands went cold.
I swallowed hard. "Okay," I said slowly. "You've done enough, Kim. Thank you."
"I'll hang up now," she said gently.
The call ended.
I sat there in silence.
Albert.
At June's house.
Right now.
There was no denying it anymore.
This wasn't suspicion.
This wasn't assumption.
This was proof.
My breathing became shallow. Questions flooded my mind faster than I could stop them.
How long has this been going on?
How many nights has he spent there while I waited?
How many lies have I believed?
What other evidence did I need?
Kim had seen him.
How was I supposed to face Albert after this? How do you look at a man you love knowing exactly where he's been—and with who?
My heart raced violently, disappointment crashing into me like waves.
I wasn't ready for what was coming.
I needed strength.
I needed guidance.
I needed someone to tell me what to do next.
But I did none of that.
I stayed where I was.
And I wept.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
I cried for the woman I used to be.
For the marriage I believed in.
For the truth I could no longer avoid.