Regret Comes Late

"Why didn't you tell me sooner that it's your birthday today?" Alexa's voice carried a mix of exasperation and tenderness. Her fingers brushed over the man's hand, her gaze warm and affectionate.

The man chuckled, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk. He tilted his head to look down at her. "How could I? You only ever think about your husband. I wouldn't want to distract you."

The words stung like a whip, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.

He lifted his hand, cupping the back of Alexa's head and leaned in. His lips met hers, unhurried yet commanding. For a fleeting second, Alexa froze, her eyes widening in surprise. Then, slowly, her eyelids fluttered shut and she melted into the kiss. Her arms rose to loop around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened with fervor.

I was paralyzed. My breath hitched and hot tears began streaming down my cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable.

The cab driver noticed, his glance in the rearview mirror filled with muted sympathy. He fumbled for a tissue, handing it back to me. "Don't take it to heart, mister. Women... well, they're all the same sometimes. If she's stepping out, maybe it's time you find someone, too."

His words barely registered. My world felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, each sharp fragment slicing into my chest. I stared numbly ahead at the figures before me.

Alexa, the woman I thought I knew better than anyone, was flush with desire. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her breaths quick and shallow. She clutched the man's collar, her trembling fingers fumbling to undo the buttons.

"Mrs. Colby," the man murmured, his voice low and intimate. His hand slipped beneath her blouse, tracing the curve of her back. "It's my birthday today. How about giving yourself to me as a gift?"

Alexa caught his wandering hand, her movements slow, deliberate. She chuckled softly, her tone indulgent. "Alright. But not here. Someone might see us."

Her words shattered what little hope I had left. She entwined her arms around his waist, her touch possessive, leading him toward the car. Their laughter echoed faintly in the stillness as they disappeared inside. Moments later, my car—our car—began to rock in a steady rhythm.

I couldn't watch anymore. Tears blurred my vision and my chest heaved with silent sobs. "Take me back," I choked out to the driver, my voice barely audible.

The driver hesitated, his concern evident. "You sure, mister? You look like you need some fresh air. Don't let it eat you up. No woman's worth ruining yourself over."

I said nothing, only slumping deeper into the seat.

***

By the time I stumbled back into the house, I felt like a hollow shell. My legs carried me to the study without conscious thought. The familiar room now felt foreign, its cozy ambiance mocking my pain.

I sank into the chair, my head in my hands. The image of the man's face burned in my mind. His name floated to the surface like an unwanted memory: Nathan.

Nathan wasn't a stranger to me. I had seen him before.

It was a stormy day, rain lashing against the windshield as I drove past Carbel University. A figure stumbled across the street, drenched and unsteady. I slowed, squinting through the downpour. It was a young man, his clothes plastered to his thin frame, his movements sluggish.

I couldn't just watch. I pulled over, lowering the window slightly. "Hey! Are you alright?"

He turned toward me, his face pale and hollow-eyed. Then, without warning, his legs buckled and he crumpled onto the pavement.

Panicked, I leaped out of the car and hoisted him up, guiding him into the passenger seat. He was shivering uncontrollably, his lips tinged blue.

Once home, I handed him a fresh set of clothes and a warm towel. "Nathan, right? I've heard about you—you're one of Alexa's students, aren't you?"

He nodded, his wide, doe-like eyes darting nervously around the room. I remembered his name from Alexa's student roster. She had mentioned him once, noting his difficult upbringing. Orphaned at a young age, he had been raised by his grandparents and had worked tirelessly to excel in his studies despite the odds.

When Alexa walked into the living room, Nathan froze. His gaze dropped to the floor, his hands twisting anxiously in his lap.

"Mrs. Colby," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alexa barely spared him a glance. Her focus was on me, as it always was—or so I'd thought. She crossed the room and slipped her hand into mine.

"Darling," she said softly, her eyes filled with warmth, "you shouldn't go out in such weather. You'll catch a cold."

Nathan sat stiffly on the couch, his gaze flitting toward us. For a brief moment, his expression shifted—an almost imperceptible flicker of longing. But I dismissed it at the time, brushing it off as admiration for Alexa's kindness.

Now, those fleeting glances, the subtle tension in his posture, took on an entirely different meaning.

How blind I had been.