After His Mistress Stabbed Me, My Husband Chose Her

The paramedics pushed through the crowd. Two men with a stretcher. A woman with a medical bag. They moved fast.

Karina stepped in front of them.

"Wait," she said. Her voice was sharp. Commanding. "This event cannot be—"

I shoved past her. My shoulder hit hers hard. She stumbled.

"Move," I said.

She caught herself. Spun around. Her face twisted into something I'd never seen before. Something ugly and raw.

Her hand shot out. Grabbed something from the nearest table.

A steak knife.

I saw it. Registered it. But my body didn't move fast enough.

She swung.

The blade caught me across the abdomen. A hot, bright line of pain that made my breath stop.

I staggered back. Looked down. Blood spread across the navy fabric of my dress. Dark and fast.

My hand pressed against the wound. Came away red.

The crowd erupted. Screams. Shouts. Bodies surging.

Karina stood there with the knife still in her hand. Her chest heaving. Her eyes wild.

Someone grabbed her wrist. Twisted. The knife clattered to the marble floor.

I couldn't focus. The pain was everywhere. Sharp and deep and spreading.

The paramedics were yelling. One of them reached me. Pressed gauze against my stomach.

"Ma'am, stay with me," he said. "Stay with me."

I nodded. Couldn't speak.

That's when I heard his voice.

"Karina!"

Chase.

I turned my head. Saw him pushing through the crowd. His suit jacket was gone. His tie loose. He looked panicked.

He moved straight to her.

Not to me. Not to Grandpa Kelley on the floor with EMTs working over him.

To her.

He pulled Karina into his arms. Cupped her face with both hands. His mouth moved. I couldn't hear the words over the noise. But I saw the way he held her. The way his thumb brushed her cheek.

Like she was the one who needed saving.

I pressed harder against the wound. The paramedic beside me was talking. I couldn't process the words.

Chase finally looked past Karina. Saw Grandpa Kelley. Saw the stretcher. His face went white.

"Grandpa?" His voice cracked. He let go of Karina and moved toward the stretcher. Dropped to his knees beside it. "Grandpa, no. No no no."

The EMTs kept working. One of them spoke to Chase. Low and fast. Chase's hands went to his hair. His face crumpled.

I watched him. Watched the man I'd loved for seven years fall apart over his grandfather while I bled ten feet away.

The paramedic beside me tried to guide me down. "Ma'am, we need to get you on a stretcher—"

"No." I pushed his hand away. Stood straighter. The pain screamed through me. I ignored it.

The crowd was still there. Phones out. Cameras recording. Media badges visible on half the guests.

Chase had wanted press coverage for his event. He'd arranged it himself.

Fine.

I took a breath. It hurt. Everything hurt.

"Chase," I said.

My voice carried. Clear. Steady.

He looked up. His eyes found mine. Red-rimmed. Wet.

"Chase Kelley," I said again. Louder now. "Your wife is speaking."

The crowd went silent.

I held up my left hand. The cheap silver band caught the light. Pathetic next to the diamond on Karina's finger.

"Seven years," I said. "Seven years you told me real love doesn't need material things. That we were better than that."

I pointed at Karina. At the ring.

"But you gave her the New York Meteorite Diamond. Three months ago. While I was home cooking your Thanksgiving dinner."

Chase stood. His mouth opened.

"Eli, don't—"

"She calls herself Mrs. Kelley," I continued. My voice didn't shake. "She wears your ring. She lives in your apartment. The one on the Upper West Side. The one you told me was 'just for work meetings.'"

Cameras flashed. Phones recorded. I saw reporters scribbling notes.

"Eli, stop." Chase moved toward me. His face was desperate. Calculating. "You're bleeding. You need help. Let's not—"

"Let's not what?" I said. "Let's not tell the truth? Let's not ruin your reputation?"

He was close now. Three feet away. His eyes darted to the cameras. To the crowd. Back to me.

"You're making a scene," he said. His voice was low. Urgent. "Think about what you're doing."

"I'm thinking about seven years," I said. "Seven years of notes you threw away. Dinners you never came home for. A marriage you never honored."

"Eli—"

"She stabbed me," I said. "Your mistress stabbed me. And the first thing you did was hold her."

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists.

"Stop talking," he said.

I smiled. It hurt. Everything hurt.

"No," I said.

That's when he moved.

Two strides. Both hands on my shoulders. He shoved.

Hard.

I flew backward. Lost my balance. The world tilted.

My back slammed into something solid. Sharp. The edge of the banquet table. Pain exploded through my spine. My head snapped back.

I hit the floor.

The marble was cold. Wet. I looked down. Saw red spreading beneath me. Too much red.

Voices shouted. Hands reached for me. I couldn't feel them.

I looked up. Saw Chase standing there. His hands still raised. His face white.

He stared at me. At the blood. At what he'd done.

I tried to speak. Couldn't.

The ceiling lights blurred. Faces swam above me. Someone pressed something against my stomach. The pressure was distant. Unreal.

I heard sirens. Far away. Getting closer.

I closed my eyes.

The last thing I saw was Chase's face. Frozen. Horrified.

Too late.