Chapter 1: The Day I Stopped Begging
“Are you kidding me?””
Those were the first words out of my mouth when I walked into my own backyard and found my husband kissing another woman in our swimming pool.
I was still holding two grocery bags.
One contained fresh strawberries, a bottle of expensive olive oil, and the ingredients for the dinner I had planned to cook for our anniversary.
The other contained a birthday cake.
Not for me.
For him.
And there he was, celebrating something with a woman who wasn't his wife.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The late afternoon sunlight reflected off the turquoise water. The outdoor speakers were playing some soft jazz. Two champagne glasses sat on the edge of the pool, and my husband's white shirt was draped over a lounge chair beside a woman's red dress.
My husband, Marcus Reed, had one arm wrapped around a beautiful woman with long honey-brown braids.
She was laughing.
Until she saw me.
Then her smile disappeared.
Marcus turned so quickly that water splashed over the pool's edge.
“Lauren?””
I looked at him.
Then at the woman.
Then back at him.
“Are you serious right now?””
Marcus raised one hand, as though he could somehow stop the entire situation from unfolding.
“Lauren, please don't make a scene.””
I almost laughed.
Don't make a scene?
I was standing in my own backyard, at the house I had paid for, watching my husband entertain another woman in our swimming pool, and he was worried about a scene?
I slowly lowered the grocery bags.
One tipped over.
An apple rolled across the stone patio and stopped near his expensive leather loafers.
“Marcus,” I said quietly, “you have about five seconds to explain why there's a naked woman in my swimming pool.””
The woman immediately pulled her arms across her chest.
Marcus looked irritated.
Not embarrassed.
I noticed that immediately.
“She's not naked,” he snapped.
“And you need to calm down.””
The woman looked between us.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “you told me she was out of town.””
I turned toward her.
There it was.
The first crack in his little performance.
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Brianna, please. Don't.””
I folded my arms.
“Oh, so she has a name.””
“Lauren, listen to me.””
“No. You listen to me.””
My voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
For the past eleven years, I had been the woman who kept the peace.
I had smiled through uncomfortable family dinners, covered Marcus's missed mortgage payments when his business struggled, and defended him when people questioned why he never seemed to be home.
I had even apologized to his mother when she accused me of being too independent.
I had spent years making excuses for a man who apparently couldn't manage to stay faithful for eleven minutes.
But something inside me had changed.
And Marcus noticed.
He knew my usual reaction.
He expected tears.
He expected questions.
He expected me to demand that the other woman leave while he stood there pretending he was the victim.
Instead, I turned toward the lounge chair.
Marcus frowned.
“Where are you going?””
I picked up his clothes.
His designer shirt.
His tailored trousers.
His belt.
His expensive watch.
Everything he had carefully arranged beside the pool.
“Lauren?””
I carried the clothes toward the outdoor fireplace.
It was a large stone fireplace built into the patio wall. We usually used it during family gatherings when the weather turned cold.
I opened the fireplace screen and placed his clothes inside the contained firebox.
Marcus stared.
Then his expression changed.
“Wait. What are you doing?””
I reached for the long fireplace lighter.
“Lauren, don't.””
I pressed the ignition.
A small flame appeared.
Within seconds, the fabric began to catch.
Marcus practically jumped out of the water.
“STOP!””
He grabbed the pool ladder.
“Oh no! Please!””
Brianna stared at the fireplace.
“Marcus, what is happening?””
I watched his expensive shirt curl at the edges.
Then I turned away.
“You already explained everything.””
Marcus climbed out of the pool, dripping water across the patio.
He was wearing swimming trunks and absolutely no dignity.
“Are you out of your mind?”” he shouted.
I looked at him.
“That's an interesting question coming from the man who invited his girlfriend into our marital home.””
“She isn't my girlfriend!””
Brianna's mouth fell open.
“Excuse me?””
Marcus pointed at me.
“Lauren, this is not what you think.””
I tilted my head.
“Then tell me what I think.””
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For the first time that afternoon, he had no explanation.
I walked past him toward the house.
My beige silk blouse moved gently in the breeze. My heels clicked against the stone floor.
Behind me, Marcus was still shouting.
“You can't just throw me out!””
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned around.
“Throw you out?””
He nodded aggressively.
“This is my house too!””
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Marcus, do you remember who purchased this property?””
He scoffed.
“We both did.””
“No.””
I reached into my handbag and pulled out my phone.
“I purchased it three years before we got married. You moved in afterward.””
“That doesn't mean anything!””
“It means quite a lot, actually.””
He stepped closer.
“Lauren, don't do this. We can talk inside.””
I looked at his wet hair, his shaking hands, and the woman standing awkwardly in my pool.
“There's nothing to discuss.””
Then I walked toward the wall control panel beside the patio doors.
Marcus followed me.
“What are you doing now?””
I pressed the gate-release button.
A quiet mechanical sound came from the front of the property.
The large black iron gates began to open.
Marcus froze.
“Turn that off!””
I didn't look at him.
“Why?””
“Because people are coming!””
“Yes,” I replied.
“I know.””
He stared at me.
For a moment, I saw something I hadn't seen in years.
Fear.
Not fear of losing me.
Fear of what was about to happen.
Outside, a black Cadillac Escalade rolled slowly toward the driveway.
Behind it stood several people.
A tall man in a charcoal suit.
An older woman holding a leather handbag.
A younger man with his hands in his pockets.
And two security officers.
Marcus's face went pale.
“Lauren…”
I folded my arms.
The Cadillac stopped.
The driver's door opened.
A man stepped out.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark navy suit. His expression was unreadable.
He looked toward the swimming pool.
Then toward me.
He nodded once.
“Lauren.””
“Daniel.””
Brianna had been staring at the visitors with increasing confusion.
But when the tall man stepped forward, her face changed.
Her lips parted.
She grabbed the pool ladder.
Then she whispered something that made Marcus turn around.
“Oh my God…”
Her eyes were fixed on the man in the suit.
“That's my husband.””
Marcus stopped breathing.
And for the first time that afternoon, I smiled.
Because the woman in my swimming pool had absolutely no idea whose wife she had been helping my husband betray.
May you like
And neither did Marcus.
Not yet.
