My Husband Chose His Mistress

When I found out about the brain tumor, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Princeton if I died. Back then, I hoped he would remarry someone who loved him just as much as I did. Even if it were Zuri Morgan, I thought I could accept it. But now, I've changed my mind.

Zuri had added me on WhatsApp before coming back to the country, her words laced with thinly veiled threats. I kept asking myself why. Why could others find happiness, but not me? Why did Zuri manage to take everything I ever wanted—my childhood, my mother, my husband—leaving me with nothing? Well, not entirely nothing. I had Skyla, but now she's gone too.

So I started journaling, documenting the mundanity of each day alongside my rapidly declining health. The illness worsened quickly. Insomnia became my constant companion, and the piercing headaches felt like thousands of needles stabbing me. I had no idea how much longer I could endure.

I still cooked for Princeton every day, listened as he talked about work—how busy he was with projects and the conflicts among colleagues. Sometimes, when he said something amusing, I'd chuckle. Just like old times, as if nothing had changed. But I knew everything had changed. Princeton didn’t notice that I hadn't taken a bite. I was in too much pain to eat. Even a single mouthful made me nauseous, my hands starting to tremble. I struggled to appear normal, calmly making my way to the bathroom.

I wanted to reach for the painkillers, but instead, I collapsed to the floor, unconscious. I don’t know how long I was out before I forced myself to stand. When I finally emerged, Princeton was ready to leave.

“Adrian, once I'm done with work, let's take a vacation to the countryside," he said.

I smiled and agreed. Going on a holiday with Princeton was my wish; there’s a legend there about stones that bless couples with lifelong love. I had casually mentioned the beauty of the countryside once, saying it was perfect for a getaway, but he was always too busy. Work always came first, leaving no time for vacations. Now, he brought it up.

As he was leaving, he added, “There’s a dinner party tomorrow. Are you free?”

I paused, my hands still holding the dishes, and thought of how frail I looked. I declined, “I’m not available.”

Princeton didn’t press further and hurried out. As the door clicked shut, I recalled Zuri's morning update on Facebook—she was picking out a suit, and Princeton's silhouette was visible in the mirror. Zuri, freshly back from abroad, wouldn’t miss any chance to expand her network, and Princeton was eagerly assisting her. It was clear he had already promised to take her, yet he still pretended to consider me by asking. He must have been certain I would refuse.