Leaving the Cheater in the Dust

"Do as you please," I said, sliding the ring off my finger and placing it back in Stanley's hand. Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and headed upstairs.

"Becca, wait up! I'll just grab a pack of cigarettes and be right back!" he called after me.

I stopped at the corner of the landing, watching as he and Nancy walked hand in hand to the car. The light outside the building was broken, casting the area in a shroud of darkness. From my hidden spot, I saw them climb into the back seat together.

The faint glow of the streetlamp barely reached the car, but the movement inside was unmistakable—a slow, rhythmic rocking. Their muffled voices filtered through the cold night air, each word sharper than the chill biting at my skin.

"That bouquet you gave her," Nancy's voice floated out, "you'll buy me something bigger, something better."

"And the ring," she continued. "You said it was for me, that you'd propose to me. Why did you give it to her?"

She bit his ear, eliciting a sharp gasp from him.

Stanley exhaled heavily, his voice strained. "Why do you always have to compete with her? Just behave and take care of me. What do you want that I haven't already given you?"

"I want a title," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly, laced with a hint of madness. "Will you give me that too?"

I stood frozen in the shadows, the cold seeping into my bones until I could no longer feel my legs. Yet the wind was so soft that their words reached me with painful clarity.

In that moment, I felt like a clown, stripped bare and paraded before a jeering crowd. I stood there, helpless, until Stanley's voice pierced the night once more. "I love you."

I couldn't bear it anymore. Covering my face with trembling hands, I turned and fled.

Back in the apartment, the evidence of Nancy's presence was everywhere—more than I'd noticed before. She was more like the mistress of this home than I ever was. The realization hollowed me out, leaving nothing but a bitter void.

Minutes later, Stanley and Nancy entered the apartment, one after the other. Their faces held traces of embarrassment, but they recovered quickly.

"Becca, why aren't you asleep? Are you upset I didn't coax you earlier? Come on, let's go to bed," Stanley said with a forced cheerfulness, scooping me up like nothing had happened and gently laying me on the bed.

That night, I tossed and turned, my mind churning with everything I had seen and heard. Sleep evaded me until dawn began to seep through the curtains.

By the time I woke, they were gone.

I wandered into Nancy's room. Her wardrobe, to my dismay, held not only her clothes but also Stanley's belts, socks, and even underwear. Their entanglement was no fleeting affair; it had deep roots.

I gathered every item of his from her room and moved them into mine. Then, without looking back, I walked out of that place, leaving it all behind.

By noon, Stanley was home and frantic. Not finding me, he began searching everywhere. When he finally spotted his belongings relocated to my room, the truth hit him like a thunderbolt. The color drained from his face as realization dawned.

Panicked, he called me incessantly, his messages a cascade of desperate voice notes. Meanwhile, he remembered it was the day of my scheduled check-up and raced to the hospital in a frenzy, hoping to find me there.

The doctor, unaware of the chaos unfolding, greeted him warmly. "Becca Warhol? She didn't come today. Isn't she pregnant? She just needs monthly check-ups now. Didn't she tell you? After all these years, you've finally succeeded. Just take good care of her and the baby."

The doctor's words must have felt like shards of ice against his skin. Stanley stood there, pale and unresponsive, hearing nothing beyond the ringing in his ears.

It was over—completely and irrevocably over.

"Becca, please listen to me. Let me explain. Don't ignore me. Where are you? I'll come find you!" His frantic messages flooded my phone, one after another, filled with a desperation that might have once moved me.

But now, I couldn't even bring myself to open them. Let the person he loves give him his child. That's no longer my role.