Lose Me Once, And I'm Gone Forever

He let out a scoff, his eyes trailing lazily down Jennifer's thigh, still exposed below her over-the-knee boots.

"That is impressive? The best part—oh, you haven't even seen it yet."

The manager smacked his lips, clearly envious.

"When I hit your level, I'm keeping a hundred just like her!"

"But hey, your wife isn't bad either. Even without makeup, she's a stunner."

The second that the manager mentioned me, Heather's face hardened.

"Don't even think about touching my wife! Unless you're ready to lose everything!"

The manager quickly backtracked, nodding and stammering apologies, swearing he'd make sure I'd never find out anything.

But at this point, I don't care anymore.

I turned and bolted, desperate to get out of there, only to bump straight into a delivery guy rushing in with boxes.

"Mrs. Walsh—"

"Shh!" I cut him off. "Don't tell anyone you saw me! Unless you're looking for a new job!"

I didn't even know how I got back home. When I finally looked up, I was already standing outside the door.

One of my shoes was missing, and I looked like a mess.

When I checked the time, I realized eight hours had gone by since the shoot started.

I ran to the closest convenience store and cleared the shelves of every bottle of alcohol they had.

After paying, I stepped outside—and as if fate wasn't done screwing with me, I ran into my husband's mistress.

The way her eyes lit up when she saw me—ugh. That smug little gleam.

But her words? Sickly sweet.

"Oh my god, you're Mrs. Walsh, right? I've been such a huge fan of yours for ages! I even sent gifts during your wedding livestream! I can't believe we live in the same area!"

"You know, I used to be really jealous of your love story. I mean, who wouldn't dream of a husband like yours? And guess what? My dream came true!"

She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear in this fake, innocent way.

Her voice dropped to this conspiratorial whisper like we were best friends sharing secrets.

"My apartment here? It's a gift from him—basically just like a little 'hello' present, you know?"

"Anyway, hey, can I add you on IG? We should totally hang out sometime—maybe get facials together or something!"

I didn't want to let her see me break, so I kept my face blank and showed her my username.

After adding me, she hooked her arm through mine like we were best friends. As if it was a joke, I walked into the neighborhood together with my husband's mistress.

She kept chattering in my ear, talking about how her boyfriend gave her an apartment, a company, and even scripts written just for her.

I just nodded along. Finally, at my front door, I managed to escape, muttering a quick goodbye before shutting myself inside.

The second I was alone, I cracked open a few bottles of alcohol, hoping to drink myself into oblivion.

But it didn't take long before my phone buzzed with a message. From her.

[Hey, Shannon, do you like roses? Today's shoot went so well, and my boyfriend says he's buying out every rose in the city to celebrate! That's a lot, right? I can send some to you if you'd like!]

I stared at that shameless message for a moment before deleting it without replying.

By the time Heather got home, I'd already had quite a bit to drink.

He froze in the doorway, his eyes wide. He didn't even take off his shoes, just rushed to the kitchen to make some hangover soup for me.

I grabbed his hand as he passed by and pulled him toward me like a brat.

"Babe, I want roses. Can you get me some? Like right now."

He let out a chuckle. But his eyes—they were empty.

"Why the sudden interest in flowers? Can I get them for you tomorrow, babe? I've got so much to do tonight, you know?"

"Did you drink too much?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head bitterly.

"You can't, can you? Oh well, never mind. Go ahead finish your work."

"Babe, what's wrong? Didn't you sleep well last night? How about you head to bed early tonight? I'll make you soup for your hangover first, but after that, I've really got to get back to the company."

He kept asking me what was wrong, but I didn't say another word.

What was the point? Nothing I said would change a damn thing.

He watched me sip the hangover soup he made, and then just like that, he left me alone without a word.