The Day My Husband Promised Another Woman Forever

I once had many plans for the future.

I tend to worry a lot, so I like to be cautious and stick to what feels safe. But all my plans fell apart when Kyson simply said, "I'm sorry."

Everything seemed to lose direction in my life.

I sat in the bathroom, thinking until my legs went numb. When I tried to stand, I fell. My knee hit the tiles with a sharp jolt, and the pain was intense. I held my knee and cried out, "Kyson, it hurts. Kyson, am I homeless again?"

Kyson lifted me up and carried me back to the bedroom. "Don't cry, Kalani. You still have a home..."

His voice was filled with concern, just like it was last night in the emergency room.

Held in his arms, I glanced at the half of the bed where he had slept. It still carried the faint scent of blood and disinfectant. I felt the urge to vomit again.

I squirmed away from him, "Kyson, don't put me on that bed."

Kyson paused, "Why?"

"Because you slept there." I shut my eyes, feeling despair. I couldn't share a bed with Kyson anymore. From this moment on, it seemed like we were truly over.

I slipped from his arms and headed to the guest room, closing the door in his face. "Let's sleep in separate rooms for now. We'll discuss everything else when I wake up."

Kyson's face went pale as he blocked the door. "I never touched her. Not even once."

I pushed his hand away. "Then why did she try to hurt herself?"

Kyson was silent.

I continued closing the door.

Just as the door clicked shut, I heard Kyson say, "I do like her. She likes me too. But my heart still belongs to you."

He continued, "Kalani, I'm hurting too. It pains me when either of you is hurt."

I rushed into the guest room's bathroom and vomited until I felt dizzy.

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep, and when I woke, it was already evening.

Kyson wasn’t home, but he had sent me a message on WhatsApp: [I had to step out for a bit. Made you some spiced honey cake; be sure to have some.]

His signature dish, always perfect in flavor and aroma. He used to make it when he was in a good mood, but he hadn’t cooked it in the past year, being so occupied with work.

On the dining table sat a lonely plate of spiced honey cake.

I had no appetite and was about to store it in the fridge when I noticed the thermal container from the kitchen was missing. It was a pink container I used to bring soups to work, usually sitting on the shelf, but now it was gone.

My phone buzzed with a friend request: [This is Jolie Montgomery.]

I stared at the profile picture for a long time, puzzled. It was an oil painting of a child. It looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen it before.

I accepted the request.

I needed to know why she was reaching out to me.

Just after accepting her request, Jolie sent me a voice message: "I'm sorry."

Her voice was frail and tearful, "I'm sorry, Kalani. I never meant to cause trouble for you. I didn't want to upset you..."

She sounded so vulnerable, as if she were the one who had been wronged.

I dug my nails into my palm to steady my voice as I asked her, "Why did you try to hurt yourself?"

Why does she, the outsider, feel so upset that she'd go to such lengths?

Jolie cried as she replied, "It's my fault. I got too attached to Kyson. I selfishly wanted him to myself. I've never had anyone care for me since I was a child, and Kyson was the only one who showed me kindness..."

A chill spread through my chest.

It felt like Kyson had played the hero with me, only to go and rescue another lost soul elsewhere.

I scrolled through Jolie’s social media.

Just a few minutes ago, she had posted: [Thank you, that's so thoughtful.]

Accompanied by a picture of a pink thermal jug filled with aromatic spiced honey cake.