After my husband married his mistress

Evelyn's delicate and very pregnant figure trailed closely behind Roman, the two of them carrying bags of household supplies from the mall. They looked like the perfect couple, while I sat in my wheelchair in front of the house door, tears streaming down my face.

Just then, Linda, my best friend, came outside and saw the scene. She opened her mouth to speak but I stopped her. “Please, Linda, take me out of here. I can't bear this any longer.”

Linda nodded and put the last of my boxes into her car.

“Amanda, I just want to say, I hope there are no hard feelings,” Roman said.

As I rolled towards the car, I replied in a flat tone, though my heart felt like it was being crushed. “It’s over, Roman. You chose her, it’s fine.” I handed him the divorce papers.

Roman seemed relieved as he took them.

“Thank you, Amanda. We can still be friends, just let me know if you want to visit or see the kids.”

He didn’t know I was leaving the country, and I wasn’t going to tell him.

We all stood there in awkward silence, well, I sat. Then Evelyn, looking tired, broke the silence.

Roman smiled at me, no guilt, no shame on his face, just pure joy, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hurried inside with her.

As the door closed, I couldn’t help but remember the promises he’d made, the love he swore would last forever. I had believed him, and now, fifteen years felt wasted.

Linda, her face tight with anger, sighed. “I can’t believe what he did to you. You were there for him through everything. And now this… the same woman he cheated on you with, the same one who pushed you to have that hysterectomy.”

I shook my head. “I guess people change.”

Linda helped me into the car, and we drove off. I stared out the window, thinking of my family, of how I had abandoned them for Roman. I felt the ache of it deep in my chest as fresh tears spilled down my face.

Linda glanced back at me. “What now?”

I wiped my tears away and looked at her through the rearview mirror. “I want to leave this country, go far away where the memory of Roman won’t hurt anymore.”

She nodded, and I let my head rest against the cool glass. The city passed in a blur as exhaustion took over, and I drifted into a restless sleep.

Two Weeks Later

I stared at my laptop, my tears dripping onto the keyboard as I looked at the photo Evelyn had "graciously" tagged me in. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

Scrolling through the posts, I stopped at the last one:

[You won’t believe what my husband got me! He’s such a wonderful father and husband.]

The post was by Evelyn, with a photo of a yacht. Anger and pain flared up in me, it was the exact yacht Roman had promised he would buy for me, naming it Mrs. Randall after me. Now, it was still named that, but for his new wife.

As I scrolled through more photos, wedding pictures, pictures of their kids, their happy life, my heart broke all over again. Everything I had lost.

I slammed the laptop shut and cried. I cried for my mistakes, for leaving my family, for never being able to have children. I cried.

I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. I just watched their posts on Facebook, Instagram, seeing their perfect life. Hate began to grow in my chest.

The pain of it all, Roman, Evelyn, the lies, pressed down on me. I had no more tears left, just a hollow pit in my stomach. But then, a knock on the door, and I thought it was Linda.

I was supposed to have left the country, but I was stuck in the apartment, drinking and crying, unable to move forward.

The knocking continued, louder, giving me a headache.

I stood up from the bed and walked toward the door.

“Linda, I know, I know, I…” I began, but when I opened the door, it wasn’t Linda. The man standing there was like a mountain, broad-shouldered and imposing. His dark eyes locked onto mine with such intensity that I froze, my heart racing. There were other men behind him, but none of them were as tall as he was. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

“You’ve got the wrong place, sir,” I said, but he smiled, dimples appearing on his tan face, and stopped me from closing the door.

“I think I have the right place, Amanda,” he said. The way he said my name, with that Italian accent, sent a chill down my spine.

“How do you know my name?”

“We’ll get to that, Amore. Open the door. I don’t like doing business in the open.”

I considered slamming the door and calling the police, but I quickly realized that wouldn’t work. This man was huge. He’d easily break down the door.

I had no choice. I nodded and opened the door wider. He stepped inside, leaving the other men outside. I gulped in fear and closed the door behind me, but before I could turn around, he pressed against me, pinning me to the door.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I was bracing myself for the worst, but then he spoke:

“How would you like to have revenge on those who’ve hurt you, mi amore?”