The Last Mistress's Wife

Early the next morning, I walk down to the kids’ room and get them ready for school.

In time past, I had left everything concerning my kids’ welfare in the hands of the homeworkers because I was too busy with satisfying my husband.

I was too busy chasing after shadows and wishing every damn thing would come my way.

To the extent that I have no single idea on what happens to my kids at school.

A few workers are already attending to them when I walk in. So I tell them to leave while I take over.

In less than twenty minutes, I finish dressing the girls and keeping their bags on their backs.

“Come on, angels,” I whisper, fixing their bowties. “We'll be late.”

They stare at me awkwardly like I'm an alien from a different planet. But I do not mind because I know I'm paying for my errors.

And I'm ready to make up for every single stupid action I made.

“Will Daddy also come with us?” Amelia, the second kid asks.

“No, he's not.” I declare, leaving no room for further talks.

The drive to Rivendell Schools seems quiet except for the frequent chatter of my daughters in the back seat.

Their carefree, innocent laughter fills the car, and I cannot help but look back at them.

I drive into the school's premises and halt at the parking lot.

Then I round the car, open the door, and allow them out.

Many more kids are seen either trekking with their guardians or alighting from vehicles.

Just at the entrance of the main building, I stoop so low, kneeling to hug them goodbye.

“Be good, girls.” I say kissing their cheeks.

They look horrified for a while, running off with their pink backpacks bouncing.

Watching them brings a kind of relief to the ache in my chest.

I exhale and get up, moving to leave when the corner of my eye catches two figures afar.

At first, I want to ignore them, but realizing the whispers are certainly concerning me, I slow down to listen attentively.

“Isn’t she Richard Warren’s wife? Also known as the only wife amongst mistresses?” One asks.

“Of course, she is. She's been suffering lately and looks even lean. Can't you see?” The other concurs.

“This is what you get for not birthing a male child in a prominent family like the Warrens.”

“Hahahahaha.” They cackle and return to their businesses when an icy glare comes from me.

Town gossips who take delight at other people's misfortune.

I walk past them with my head high, unlocking my car and sliding into the driver's seat and speeding out of the premises.

As one of the publicly known wives in Boston, I have learned lessons that it is better to refute or ignore gossip than allow it to get to you.

If you are moved by them, you will become dirt that people trample upon.

I turn on the radio as soon as the car hits the expressway.

This is something I do once in a while to divert my thinking.

But on this day, I regret turning it on. I regret listening because the next news crushes everything within me.

In a twinkle of an eye, all the buried agony comes crashing on me by a single public announcement.

I halt in the middle of the road regardless of the blaring horns behind me.

“In relation to this, billionaire executive Richard Warren has reportedly gotten engaged to his newly found lover and sixth mistress, Clara Steele, after many months…”

”...sources have noted that the engagement took place at a private dinner two nights ago. And it seems the couple is expecting a child together.”

A lone tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

Every single word replays in my head.

My husband, the father of my daughters, is publicly engaged to his sixth mistress.

This is a man I gave my youth, my dreams, my body and my peace to.

A man I loved with the whole of my heart, hoping it is reciprocated.

And he gives me disgrace and loneliness in return.

I sniff and start up the engine. Not anymore. I am done being used as a filthy rag and dumped.

I turn the car around and head straight for the city's court.

The building looms tall with an imposing facade under the morning sun.

It has a dignified, formal appearance with stone walls and a wide staircase.

Inside are a few attorneys lurking around, either to check in, review files, or negotiate with their potential clients.

A male clerk looks up as I approach the counter.

“Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?”

My voice comes out calm and steady. “I need divorce papers.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, but he says nothing. Then he nods, producing a set of documents with six to ten pages.

“Fill this out and return it when due. The filing fees, service fees, and legal fees are $2,120 in estimate. A family law attorney will be given to navigate the divorce proceedings.”

I pick up the document and head back to my car. For the first time in six years, I realize I'm about to set myself free.

By the time I return home, two hours have already passed.

A few homeworkers stop to greet me as I walk through the doors, heading directly to the living room.

But then I stop, noticing that the TV is blaring and what is being displayed on the screen is Richard's engagement with Clara Steele.

The lady flashes a diamond ring at the screen and grins shamelessly like the whore she is.

But that doesn't catch my attention.

It is the creaking sound of the couch.