He Died Beside His Mistress

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Mike slapped his own face three times in front of both our families last month, swearing on his life that he had cut off all ties with his mistress, his yoga instructor.

To prove his commitment, he even changed all his bank PINs to my birthday.

Just now, an unsaved contact sent a text to his phone.

I'm sick. I'm all alone at the hospital and so scared. Can you come see me?

St. Jude's was only a ten-minute Uber ride from our house.

Watching his frantic silhouette as he rushed to shove his feet into his shoes, I stood in the living room holding my mug, letting out a cold, mocking laugh.

"In such a rush? Why don't you take the Tylenol from the cabinet? Hell, take a couple of condoms while you're at it."

Mike froze mid-motion, then stood up to glare at me, his eyes dripping with pure irritation.

"Diana, I've committed to this marriage again. Do you have to be so incredibly toxic?"

"Do you want her to die just to prove a point?"

Looking at his self-righteous, blaming face, I finally saw him for what he was.

Fine, Mike.

If you walk out that door tonight, don't bother ever coming back.

"Mike, do you seriously think changing a couple of PINs is enough to wash the filth out of your brain?" I stared at him, my voice like ice.

His hands paused on his laces. He spun around, his forehead creasing into a deep, frustrated scowl.

"Diana, are we really doing this again?"

"I told you, Sienna has no one in this city. She's got acute gastroenteritis and is hooked up to an IV at the ER. What's wrong with a former colleague dropping off some medicine?"

"A former colleague?" I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "Do you need me to remind you how many highly advanced positions you two unlocked on a yoga mat last month as former colleagues?"

Mike's face instantly flushed crimson. He stepped closer, pointing a finger right at my face, his voice a low, furious hiss.

"I apologized for that! I literally slapped myself in front of your parents!"

"For a whole month, I've come straight home after work. I handed over my credit cards. What more do you want from me?"

"Do you have to act like a bitter, hysterical housewife and make this place a living hell?"

The sheer audacity of his defense made my stomach churn with nausea.

A month ago, I had thrown a stack of private investigator photos right at his face. Pictures of him and Sienna tangled up in a bed at a boutique hotel.

Back then, he had dropped to his knees, weeping, begging for forgiveness, claiming it was just a temporary lapse in judgment, pleading with me to save our seven-year relationship. He had put on a grand show of remorse in front of our families, striking his own face hard enough to leave bruises. He changed his PINs to my birthday and canceled his VIP membership at her studio.

I had been foolish enough to believe him. I thought if I just swallowed the humiliation, we could patch up the cracks in our marriage.

But a dog doesn't stop eating trash. A cheater never learns loyalty.

I watched him fume, then turned, walked to the sofa, and slid an iPad out from under a throw pillow.

"You really are a great actor, Mike."

"Coming home on time, letting me check your phone... a reformed husband of the year."

I tapped the screen and tossed the iPad onto his chest.

"Then explain this."

Mike caught the tablet clumsily, looking down at the screen. In an instant, every drop of color drained from his face.

The screen displayed the synced data log of his brand-new smartwatch.

He bought it last month, claiming it was to track his sleep.

But earlier this afternoon, I logged into our shared family account and found his fitness app was secretly linked to another user.

The profile picture was a mirror selfie of Sienna in tight yoga wear.

"Every night at 11 PM, your heart rate spikes to 120," I said, trapping his gaze as I stripped away his mask.

"And at those exact same times, Sienna's sleep log shows she enters an active state."

"Tell me, Mike. Are you two having spiritual affairs in the cloud?"

Mike's lips trembled. He instinctively tucked his wrist behind his back, trying to hide the watch face glowing with a faint blue light.

"This... this is a system glitch. I have no idea how her account got linked!" He was desperate, grasping at straws. "Maybe it synced automatically when we were on the same Wi-Fi at the studio..."

"Does the Wi-Fi automatically sync her period tracker too?" I cut him off with a harsh laugh, swiping my finger across the screen.

The page shifted.

Sienna's menstrual cycle was highlighted with little pink hearts. Right next to it was a customized reminder: Baby's cycle. Remember to get her favorite heating pads and dark chocolate.

The reminder was set for this morning.

Mike went completely silent.

After a heavy, suffocating beat, his panic morphed into raw, ugly rage.

"You're spying on me?!" He slammed the iPad down onto the sofa, glaring at me with bared teeth.

"Diana, you're a psycho! Checking my phone, tracking my watch... you need help!"

"I told you we're over, but you just have to use these stupid, meaningless numbers to torture me!"

"Yes, I'm the problem," I said, inhaling deeply to suppress the sharp, tearing ache in my chest. "If I'm so toxic, get the hell out. Go to the hospital and find your pure, sweet Sienna."

Mike snatched his car keys off the entryway table and flung the door open without looking back.

"Fine, Diana! Don't come crawling back!"

"I only regret being blind enough to marry a spineless piece of garbage like you," I fired back.

"You think I actually want to stay in this freezing cold house?" Mike stood in the doorway, one foot out, looking at me with absolute contempt.

"Look at yourself, Diana. Look at the hysterical mess you are."

"Your hair is a disaster, you don't even wear makeup anymore, and you spend all day obsessing over every little thing I do."

"Compare that to Sienna. Even when she's sick, she's ten times sweeter and more understanding than you'll ever be!"

He finally said the quiet part out loud.

I stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching the man I had loved for seven years, feeling the blood in my veins slowly turn to ice.

So that was it. The exhaustion and weariness on my face, the toll of keeping our household running, was just an excuse for his disgust. And the homewrecker who crept into our lives was his precious, delicate muse.

I didn't argue. I walked over to the TV stand and pulled open the bottom drawer.

I took out a crumpled hospital bill and a printed insurance policy document.

Walking back to the door, I threw both papers straight at his face.

"If she's so perfect, Mike, why the hell did you marry me?"

"You talk about how pitiful she is, but what about this $500,000 critical illness insurance policy?"

Mike looked down at the scattered papers, his pupils shrinking.

It was an insurance policy he had secretly bought for Sienna three months ago, with her mother listed as the sole beneficiary. And the premium had been paid directly from our joint account, the one we had saved up to buy our future home.

"You... you went through my study?" he roared, his voice cracking with rage.

"The truth always comes out," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"Did you forget, Mike? Did you forget how I nearly died on an operating table a year ago?"

This time last year, I was rushed to the ER with a ruptured ectopic pregnancy.

The doctors needed a family signature. I called Mike's phone over and over.

But all I got was the empty, robotic ring back tone.

I almost bled out on that table.

When he finally showed up, what was his excuse?

He said he was hosting a massive client at a golf resort and had left his phone in his locker.

He sat by my hospital bed, holding my cold hand, weeping louder than I was, swearing he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me.

And I believed him.

I dragged my weak, broken body through those dark days, keeping our home together.

But last month, when I went through his phone, I found the truth.

He wasn't with any client.

He was at a luxury hot spring resort in the next state, celebrating Sienna's twenty-fourth birthday.

He had posted a photo on his feed, hidden from everyone except Sienna, captioned: To my girl, may you always smile like this.

While his wife was signing her own critical consent form in a pool of her own blood.

"And now you're telling me she's the victim?" I stepped closer, locking my eyes onto his.

"She used my money for her insurance, she used my money for her hotels. How is she the victim?"

"The only victim was my unborn baby, who never even got a chance to breathe!"

"And me, the idiot who let you lie to her face!"

Mike recoiled slightly.

But there was no remorse on his face. Only the defensive, ugly irritation of a man caught in a lie.

"Diana, can you stop bringing up ancient history?" He yanked at his collar, his voice cold and dismissive.

"The doctor literally said ectopic pregnancies are just a genetic fluke, a matter of probability!"

"You're just using it as an excuse to blame Sienna. Is this really fun for you?"

"Besides, I didn't know you were in danger. If I had known, do you honestly think I wouldn't have come back?"

My breath caught in my throat.

A genetic fluke. A matter of probability.

With a single, careless sentence, he erased his cruelty and betrayal. He even managed to make it my fault.

Looking at his contorted, angry face, I felt a sudden, profound sense of detachment.

Was this really the boy who used to run two miles through a blizzard just to bring me a warm cup of coffee on campus?

No.

The moment he climbed into Sienna's bed, that Mike died.

The creature standing in front of me was a hollow, selfish monster, stripped of any remaining humanity.

"Mike, you make me sick."

The words fell from my lips, heavy and deliberate. I looked at him like he was a stain on the floor.

That look seemed to pierce his ego.

He raised a hand, his face twisting as if he wanted to strike me, but he stopped himself, his hand trembling in mid-air.

"Fine, Diana. You're the saint, you're the victim." He spat, pointing a finger at me. "Since you can't stand her so much, I'm going to the hospital to bring her back here myself."

"Let's see what the hell you're going to do about it!"

Right then, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate violently.

A custom ringtone cut through the suffocating silence of the hallway.

Mike pulled it out. As his eyes hit the screen, his hostile expression melted into something incredibly tender.

He swiped to answer, his voice dropping into a soft, protective murmur.

"Hey, babe, don't worry. I'm on my way..."

On the other end of the line, a breathy, tearful female voice filtered through.

"Mike... please don't worry about me. It's fine if I just die here in the hospital alone."

"Go back and comfort Diana. I don't want to be the reason you guys fight..."

I let out a harsh, dry laugh.

"What a saint. If she's so considerate, who was the desperate woman texting you ten minutes ago?"

"Diana! Keep your mouth shut!" Mike bellowed, slamming his thumb over the microphone, glaring at me like a cornered animal.

I ignored his useless rage, stepped forward, and snatched the phone clean out of his hand before he could react.

I tapped the speaker button and cranked the volume to the max.

Sienna's soft whimpering filled the room.

"Diana...? Is that you?" Her voice sounded fragile, like a delicate glass ornament, laced with just the right amount of fear.

"Please don't be mad at Mike. It's my fault, I shouldn't have called him after hours."

"But I'm all alone, and the IV needle slipped. My hand is so swollen and it hurts so bad... I just wanted to hear a familiar voice. I didn't mean anything else by it, I swear..."

A textbook performance.

Every syllable was an apology, and every syllable was a knife.

She was telling me: Look, I have your husband on a leash. All I have to do is whistle, and he'll leave you in a heartbeat.

Mike lunged forward, clawing at my hands. "Diana, give it back! Didn't you hear her? Her hand is swollen!"

I sidestepped him, speaking directly into the phone.

"If your hand is swollen, call a nurse. What is my husband going to do, suck the fluid out for you?"

"You keep saying you don't want to ruin our marriage."

"So why are you texting him late at night like a dog in heat? Is your hand disconnected from your brain, or do you just enjoy eating scraps out of other people's trash cans?"

The crying on the other end stopped instantly.

Sienna clearly hadn't expected me to drop all pretense of politeness.

Before, to keep up appearances for Mike, I had always tried to play the dignified wife. But now? I didn't even want the man. Why should I spare her?

"Diana, how can you say that to me..." Sienna's voice turned sharp with embarrassment.

"Mike and I share a spiritual connection. We never wanted to hurt you."

"Love doesn't care who got here first. The one who isn't loved is the real interloper. Why can't you just accept that?"

I laughed out loud at the sheer delusion.

"A spiritual connection? Is that what you call screwing on a yoga mat?"

"Sienna, do you actually think being a mistress is something to be proud of?"

"How about I send the videos of your spiritual connections to the group chat of your studio's clients tomorrow morning? Let's see what they think of your pure soul."

"Don't you dare!"

Mike finally snapped.

He lunged, grabbing my wrist with a force that felt like it would splinter my bones.

"Diana, you've completely lost your mind! You just have to ruin everything, don't you!"

His eyes were bloodshot, staring at me with pure venom as his other hand pried at my fingers, trying to wrench the phone away.

A sharp gasp of pain escaped my throat, but I clamped my hand shut, refusing to let go.

"I'm ruining things?" I hissed, looking directly into his murderous eyes. "You two pushed me to this!"

"If you walk out that door to see her tonight, I will ruin both of your lives!"

Over the line, Sienna let out a terrified shriek.

"Mike! Don't hurt her! Just come to me, I'm scared..."

Still pouring oil on the fire.

Hearing her cry, Mike lost the last shred of his sanity.

With a violent heave, he ripped the phone from my grasp.

The momentum sent me stumbling backward. My foot caught, and I fell hard, my lower back slamming directly into the sharp edge of our marble coffee table.

A dull, heavy crash echoed through the room.

An agonizing pain flared from my spine, radiating through my entire body. My vision went black for a second, and cold sweat broke out across my back.

I slid onto the cold floor, curling into a ball, unable to even draw a breath to scream.

Mike stood over me, phone in hand.

There wasn't a trace of concern in his eyes. Only cold, detached disgust.

"You're a psycho, Diana."

He adjusted his crumpled collar, looking at me as if I were already dead.

"If you want to lie there and throw a tantrum, go ahead. I don't have time for this."

He spoke softly into the phone, "Don't worry, sweetie, I'm coming," and walked out without a backward glance.

The heavy front door slammed shut, shaking the frames on the wall.

Silence rushed back into the living room.

Only the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock remained.

I lay on the hardwood floor, clutching my throbbing back, as tears finally spilled over my cheeks.

This was the man I had loved with everything I had for seven years.

For a lying homewrecker, he had laid hands on me.

I closed my eyes, memories flashing through my mind. Mike cooking pasta for me in our tiny first apartment; Mike spinning me around when I got my promotion, laughing.

But all those memories dissolved, replaced by the icy, hateful glare he had just given me.

I wiped my face and slowly, painfully, pulled myself up using the edge of the table.

The ache in my back was a brutal reminder of what he was.

But the fire in my heart had gone completely cold.

In its place was a sharp, frozen resolve.

I walked over to the window, watching his black sedan tear out of the driveway and disappear into the night.

You think you won, Mike?

You think you get to keep draining me dry while you play house with her?

I grabbed my phone from the sofa and dialed a number buried deep at the bottom of my contact list.

The call connected, and a gruff, impatient voice answered.

"Who the hell is this? Do you know what time it is?"

I looked out at the pitch-black sky, a cold smile touching my lips.

"I'm Mike's wife."

"Axel, your fiance, Sienna, is sick. She needs someone to look after her."

"If you don't get moving, she's going to end up in my husband's bed tonight."