My Husband Chose His Mistress While I Burned

Naya came to see Harlan the next day. I heard them in the living room while I was in the kitchen, pretending to make tea I had no intention of drinking. Her voice carried through the apartment, soft and wounded.

"I didn't want to say anything," she was saying. "I know you care about her. But Harlan, it's been going on for months."

"What has?"

"The things she says to me. When you're not around. Little comments. About my clothes. About how much time we spend together. She called me a leech once. Said I was pathetic for always hanging around you."

I set the kettle down. My hand was steady.

"At the boutique," Naya continued, "I think she just snapped. I don't know. Maybe she's jealous. Maybe she thinks I'm trying to take you away from her. But Harlan, I'm scared of her now. The way she looked at me before she pushed me—"

"She said she didn't push you."

"I know. And maybe she doesn't even remember doing it. Maybe she's convinced herself it didn't happen. But my wrist still hurts."

There was a pause. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my other wrist. Breathed.

"I believe you," Harlan said.

I walked into the living room. They both looked up. Naya's face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. Harlan stood beside the couch, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.

"You're lying," I said to Naya.

She flinched like I'd raised a hand to her. "Harlan—"

"Winnie." His voice was cold. Flat. "You need to apologize."

I looked at him. "For what? For something I didn't do? For things I never said?"

"You're going to apologize to her. On your knees. Or we're done."

I almost laughed. Almost. "You want me to kneel."

"I want you to take responsibility."

"For a lie."

"For what you did."

I stared at him. At the man who used to walk me home in the rain. Who used to bring me coffee during finals. Who punched someone once for calling me a name I don't even remember anymore.

"No," I said.

He pulled out his phone. Tapped the screen. Held it up so I could see. A text thread with someone whose name I didn't recognize.

"Your friend Chloe," he said. "Works at Steinberg & Associates, right? Junior associate. Up for partner track next year."

My stomach dropped.

"One phone call," Harlan continued, his tone almost conversational. "My father knows three people on their board. She'll be blacklisted from every firm in the city by Monday. She'll never work in corporate law again."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

I looked at Naya. She was watching me now, no tears, just waiting. Her mouth curved at the corner. Barely. Just enough.

Five days left. That's what I thought, standing there. Five more days and Kingsley would come. Five more days and I would never have to see this apartment or these people again. I could hold on. I could survive five more days of anything.

But Chloe couldn't. Chloe, who had worked seventy-hour weeks for three years to claw her way up from nothing. Who had student loans that would bury her if she lost this job. Who had no idea she was being used as leverage in someone else's nightmare.

"Fine," I said.

Harlan lowered the phone. "What?"

"I'll apologize."

Naya sat up straighter on the couch, smoothing her skirt. She crossed her legs. Folded her hands in her lap. Waited.

I walked across the living room. My legs felt far away. Like I was watching myself from the ceiling. I stopped in front of the couch. In front of her.

Harlan moved to stand behind her. Arms folded. Supervising.

"Kneel," he said.

I looked at him one more time. At his face. I wanted to memorize it. This version of him. The one I would need to remember every time some small, stupid part of me tried to soften toward the memory of who he used to be.

Then I knelt.

The hardwood was cold through my jeans. Naya's shoes were inches from my knees. Expensive. Cream-colored. Not a scuff on them.

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice came out flat. Empty. Like someone reading words off a card. "I'm sorry for pushing you. I'm sorry for the things I said. It won't happen again."

Naya tilted her head, studying me. "Do you mean it?"

I looked up at her. "Yes."

She smiled. Just a little. Just enough. "Okay. I forgive you."

I stood. My knees ached. I didn't look at Harlan. I walked past him, past both of them, into the bedroom. I closed the door. Locked it. Sat on the edge of the bed.

My phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out. Opened my messages. Stared at Kingsley's name.

Five days. I could last five days.

From the living room, I heard Harlan's voice, low and pleased. "See? That wasn't so hard."

And Naya laughed.