I know I have sinned, not to God this time, but to my best, to my trustee. I had not planned for this though. But the blood in me speeds up my motive of going after someone. I feel like I should have grabbed her when she hugged me, and then explain everything that had happened. This is sin to the woman my heart leaps and sweats for. And I am crying inside because hell is burning in me.
Since we promised each other our heaven on earth, I had not thought of cheating on my wife, leave that: I had never seen my woman get this mad, with her always white globes, now turning red and misty. Our experience in love made us feel much comfortable despite our small differences of what we would eat or cook for dinner. Today, I stand, difficult to move, like a dumb mad man, like I am losing it all in life, feeling it because I am missing everything already.
Suddenly, I feel like I have been hit from the back, some pain going down my spine, and I am not sure if what I feel is true. There is some noise in the background, but I hear these from a distance, like someone is quarrelling someone, but still, I am not sure who. Then silence.
This is where the reality hits back, drawing me away from an adventure of real-fiction. This woman with some head and unkempt hair has brought a plague to my home. I stand there looking at her, and all from the blues:”just get out of my house.” I say to her.
One thing I would go to jail for is when someone insults this precious asset I love. She too stands right there as I turn to hold and turn the door knob. “I said get out and never should you call my wife a bitch!” I say.
“Your wife!? You never told me you have a wife!” she retracts. I feel like vaporizing her with my breath into thin air.
The door is now open, sited right at the door is my wife. I hate to see her in this position. Sobbing, crying, tears rolling on her chicks, her beautiful hair now out of place, she looks disturbed. What should I do next? I can’t reason, even think. What have I done to myself, and to her? I feel out of place.
I kneel to hug her, words difficult to project, but I manage some few, and to hug her tight to myself. There’s this painful ball on my throat that forms, it tastes so painful. Tears are beginning to collect on my eyes, but I don’t want to let them roll. I fight them back as I hug more.
“Hey babe, I am sorry, I am deeply sorry….” I say, trying to hold back my pains. She manages to stand, leading her way into the house.
“So this is the woman that has been funding the lavish lifestyle we’ve been living?” the now, old and ugly woman shouts, clapping her hands and laughing sarcastically. I wish that I could pounce on her and knit her loose mouth with a wire tape.
“Wha…what is she talking about?” my wife asks, now more worried and freaked out. She hurries to her handbag looks for her credit cards, but one is missing; the one I borrowed her minutes before she left for the vacation to fuel my car. She recalls, and then takes her phone to check with her bank on the credit card status. But I can tell the response from the fierce look I get from her: you cannot access your bank account due to insufficient funds.
Where do I start from? How can I tell her that I ran into some trouble and had to pay off all the money we had invested on our mega project? And that I was using her credit card to maintain my living standards after my account run dry? But trying to explain the big ordeal tends to turn all the tables upside-down. She turns to look at the woman standing at the middle of our living room, turns to me again and swallows a deep breath.
I love the vigor and the psyche she’s gained. Where did this courage come from? I even begin to wish that she had known this earlier.
On the other hand, the ugly witch turns for the bedroom. I stand still looking at my beautiful desperate looking wife. In less than 30 seconds that follow, I hear a door bang from the bedroom side, followed by the envelope, thrown to the glass table.