ASHLEY
A lifetime ago, my husband loved me.
I lived for the little things: the way he’d surprise me with a bouquet of my favorite lilies, the laughter we shared over dinner dates that always felt too short, and the gentle way his lips would brush against my forehead as he walked through the door, as though I was his entire world.
But that was a lifetime ago. Now, as I stared at my phone, watching the call I’d placed to him go straight to voicemail for the umpteenth time, I felt a pang of resignation. Today was our anniversary—one year of marriage—and I couldn't believe he’d forgotten.
I already knew how this night would end—just like so many others, with Kyle lost in his world of deadlines and deals. His priorities were clear: work, wealth, and success. Love? That didn’t seem to fit into the equation anymore neither was our one year anniversary
I blinked my eyes hoping for a year to slip, to let the frustration pour out, but nothing came. Maybe I’d already resigned myself to this—to being the afterthought in his busy life. Still, I had hoped tonight might be different.
We had planned to go back to FutChic—the restaurant where it all began, where he had proposed to me on a rainy evening that felt like a fairytale. The rules were supposed to be simple: no phones, no work—just us. It was meant to be a chance to reconnect, to find a piece of what we’d lost as our relationship frayed more with each passing day. I had imagined us laughing, reminiscing, maybe even falling in love all over again. But that was just another fantasy, like so many others I’d crafted to fill the void.
Kyle wasn’t the man I’d fallen for in high school anymore —the boy who used to move mountains just to see me smile. The boy who’d once dropped everything to fly across the country to be by my side. And I wasn’t the same girl either. Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped floating through life with stars in my eyes and started bracing for disappointment instead.
I glanced at the reservation confirmation on my phone, the words taunting me. Should I cancel? Wait a little longer? Or maybe I should drive to his office?
I laughed dryly at the later thought. I was done with showing up there, pretending it wasn’t humiliating to wait for hours just to steal a moment of the mighty Kyle Blackwood
The Kyle Blackwood I married wouldn’t have made me feel like this. But then again, maybe that Kyle was just a memory—a fleeting version of him that I’d clung to for too long.
A warm liquid streaked down my cheek as I finally allowed myself to cry. I stood up from the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me—My perfectly styled red hair, my meticulously done makeup, the blue dress I wore—all laughed at me, reminding me of my own misery.
I looked the same as I always did, but my eyes… my eyes told a different story. Hazel and dull, they mocked me, reminding me of the girl I used to be. The girl who lived with unapologetic joy and unbridled optimism. The girl who didn’t wait around for a man who couldn’t be bothered to care.
That girl was gone. Now, in her place, stood a woman staring into the mirror, waiting for a husband who would never come. A woman trying to gather the courage to break the news she had been keeping for three days.
I was pregnant—six weeks pregnant
I had imagined telling him tonight over dinner, envisioned his face lighting up with excitement at the thought of our future. He’d been too busy for days, buried in meetings, phone calls, and contracts. That was why I hadn’t told him yet,why I planned to tell him today but he wasn't here.
I stepped out of the bathroom and My gaze shifted to the clock. 9:00 PM. FutChic called to confirm if I’d be arriving, and I reluctantly canceled. The weight of disappointment was suffocating, and yet, a spark of determination flickered somewhere inside me. I couldn’t let this end like every other night, with me sitting here, drowning in my own sadness.
I grabbed my coat and keys. If he couldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. Just once more. I would see him, face him, and tell him what I had been carrying alone. And if he couldn’t make space for me—for us—this would be the last time I begged for his attention.
The drive to his office felt longer than it ever had. My mind churned with a mix of hope and resignation. Maybe he was tied up in something important. Maybe he’d see me walk in and realize what he’d forgotten, apologize, and take me into his arms like he used to.
But then I shook my head. No, I couldn’t keep making excuses for him—couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. I had been doing that for too long, and it had only left me here, driving alone to salvage a love that felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
Soon, the towering silhouette of his office building came into view, the words Blackwood Enterprises glowing against the night sky. It was one of the most prestigious companies in New York, the crown jewel of Kyle’s empire. And of course, it belonged to my husband.
I stepped out of the car, pulling my coat tighter as the cold air bit at my skin. The glass doors slid open as I approached, and I was greeted by the familiar hum of the lobby.
“Good evening, Mrs. Blackwood,” the receptionist said, her voice cheerful and polished.
I nodded at her, forcing a small smile, but the warmth didn’t reach my eyes. The security guard gave me a respectful nod as I passed, and the elevator operator held the door open for me, offering a polite, “Ma’am.”
I murmured a thank you, stepping into the elevator. The ride up felt agonizingly slow, the quiet hum of the machinery doing little to drown out the hammering of my heart.
When the elevator doors slid open to the executive floor, I stepped out, my heels clicking softly against the marble tiles. I walked past familiar faces, each one greeting me with a smile or a polite nod. I nodded back, my responses automatic, detached.
But as I approached Kyle’s office, my steps began to falter. I could feel the lump rising in my throat, threatening to choke me. But I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep moving. Go in. Confront him. Say what you need to say, and walk out with your head held high, I told myself.
Yet, the moment I reached his door, I froze. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.
Faint murmurs drifted from inside. One of the voices was unmistakably his—smooth, controlled, and familiar in a way that made my stomach churn. But then there was another voice.
A woman’s voice.
My mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. No. It can’t be. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do this to me. He might be busy, caught up in work, but not this. He wouldn’t cross that line.
I clenched my fists, chanting the words in my head like a mantra, willing myself to believe them. But doubt was already creeping in, clawing at my resolve.
Before I could second-guess myself, I pushed the door open.
The scene before me stole the breath from my lungs.
For a moment, it didn’t make sense—my mind refused to process what my eyes were seeing. But then the reality slammed into me like a freight train.
There he was, Kyle, sitting in his leather chair. And he wasn’t alone.
She was there too—her long legs draped over his lap, her head thrown back as soft gasps escaped her lips. They weren’t just sitting close or sharing a moment of quiet intimacy. No, they were entangled, utterly and completely, in a way that left no room for misinterpretation.
They were fucking!!
