My Husband, My Best Friend, and Their Dirty Little Secret

“Sheryl was always so gentle. Who would’ve thought she’d suddenly lash out like that? Really unexpected...”

“I didn’t realize Zaney was so outspoken and easygoing. Makes me wish I’d spent more time getting to know her before.”

I laughed—softly at first, then louder, until the tears I had just fought back began to surface again.

“Zaney,” I said, “only you know what’s really in your heart.”

Frans suddenly stepped in front of her, his tall frame shielding her like a barrier from my so-called "accusations." His stance was clear.

“Sheryl,” he said, voice low and controlled, “how long are you going to keep making a scene?”

I stared at the side of his face—still slightly swollen from the slap. Even marred, his features were achingly handsome, but now there was something human in them at last. A flaw. A bruise.

The clarity in his eyes—the sense of righteousness—was still unwavering. He looked down at me like a judge from a high bench, dignified and cold. Compassionate, yet detached. This ridiculous performance—after all—was always destined to end under Frans’s quiet command.

This time, Zaney didn’t get into the front seat of Fran’s car. He was thoughtful enough to call another one for her. Through the window, I saw him lean down, say something to the driver and nod at her gently—as if offering comfort. It reminded me of a summer long ago, outside the school gates. Someone had nudged me and told me to look ahead.

And I saw them—Zaney leaping into a car, Frans brushing her hair aside and murmuring something to the driver. His expression then was the same as now—gentle, indulgent.

Back then, they used to make plans to hang out with friends and I naively believed it was just an unspoken agreement to include everyone. What I didn’t know was that their invitations were exclusive—meant for each other only.

The Zaney of that time was bold and radiant. She’d kiss her own palm and, without hesitation, press it onto Frans’s cheek. He was stunned and she giggled, blushing with pride. I had stood frozen at the sight. All the subtle warnings, all the offhand comments from others—none had the impact of seeing it for myself.

The slamming of the car door brought me back to the present. Frans glanced at the front passenger seat, noticed I hadn’t taken it and let out a quiet sigh.

“Sheryl,” he said, “Zaney didn’t mean anything by sitting there. She just thought the air conditioning was better in the front. That’s all.”

His voice was gentle. Sincere. Usually, by this point, I would’ve melted. Maybe sulked a bit, then eventually climbed back into the passenger seat.

If he bought another rare gemstone necklace at auction and gave it to me, everything would’ve blown over. But not this time. Not when it came to Zaney.

“Frans,” I said, voice steady, “since we got married, you never let anyone else sit in the passenger seat.”

The car remained still for a long moment. Then, without a word, he lit a cigarette. He knew I hated the smell. Especially in an enclosed space like this. But he did it anyway.

“I thought,” he said, after a while, “you’d be happy to see Zaney again.”

“After all, the two of you were such close friends. Weren’t you?”

I let out a cold laugh. “Yeah. Close enough to share a boyfriend.”

Silence filled the car. I turned and cracked the window open, the smoke too suffocating to bear. He flicked the cigarette out the window, barely smoked. His voice was low and hoarse.

“Back then, when I looked at her… I was reminded of you. That’s all. So I tolerated her a bit more. But I only ever saw her as a friend… a brother.”

The dim light from the dashboard cast faint shadows in the car. I stared at my hands, a tear sliding silently down and soaking into my fist.

“You know what?” I said. “One night, she got drunk and cried to me. Said that if she’d been born a man, you wouldn’t be so guarded around her. That maybe the three of us wouldn’t have drifted apart.”

But I still remember the look in Zaney’s eyes the day she showed me that video. There was no sorrow in them—only pride.

She had smiled and said, “From now on, Frans will only have interest in you—no feelings.”