My Husband Chose His Mistress

The pain heightened my awareness, and memories flashed through my mind like scenes from an old movie.

My mother, Bethany, raised me on her own, carrying the weight of the world without help. I grew up never knowing my father, and any attempt to ask about him only ignited anger in her eyes, teaching me quickly to keep my curiosity at bay. Eventually, she remarried, leaving me in my grandmother's care. I couldn't fault her; everyone deserves a chance at happiness.

When I was eight, my grandmother died after a long illness, leaving me truly alone. I threw myself into my studies, hoping to change my destiny, but middle school brought its own challenges—bullying. On my birthday, they cornered me on the school rooftop, hitting and kicking me.

That's when Princeton showed up. As the heir to the Foster Corporation, he was someone they wouldn't dare mess with. With his help, I got through my school years, and his presence lit up my dark world like sunshine. I fell for him, but the gulf between our lives was wide. So, I buried these feelings deep inside.

I chased the light he represented, step by step, and finally got accepted into the same university. But by then, I realized it was too late. He had already found the love of his life, Zuri Morgan, who, ironically enough, was my half-sister.

On a crisp Thanksgiving evening, I stood outside the Morgan estate, watching the warm glow from the windows where they gathered for dinner. Inside, the table was spread with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and honey-spiced cake. I caught a glimpse of Zuri laughing with Princeton, and for a moment, I felt like an outsider gazing in on a scene from a period drama, with Zuri wearing a delicate lace dress that seemed from another time.

In that moment, I understood the world I yearned for was not mine to claim. I turned away, holding a cup of steaming coffee for warmth, and made my way back to my small apartment, my mind swirling with memories of my grandmother telling me stories of the Alps, a place she had always dreamed of visiting.

As I walked, I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened WhatsApp to send a message to my mother. Despite everything, I knew she cared, and sometimes that was enough to keep pushing forward.