The Night I Caught Him Cheating on Me

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt the eyes of the relatives and wives around me all turn in my direction—anxious, waiting for something. Even Bobby’s gaze was intense, full of frustration and hesitation, as if he was on the edge of saying something he’d regret.

My mother-in-law looked at me, her expression tinged with concern.

"Don’t worry, I will take care of the wedding," she said gently.

I fell silent, unwilling to push the matter any further in front of everyone. This was supposed to be a peaceful gathering over tea, not a battleground. But then, Bobby's voice broke the tension.

"She doesn’t want to get married. Why are you all so insistent? A wedding doesn’t even matter that much."

His words hung in the air, as I expected nothing less from him. But my mother-in-law’s face twisted in fury, her eyes flashing with anger. The wives around us, sensing the growing storm, quickly backed away, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the room.

As soon as they were gone, my mother-in-law snapped, her fist landing on Bobby’s chest with a sharp thud.

"Bobby, what’s your problem? If you don’t want to get married, just say it!"

I could feel my hands clench into fists. Though I knew how this would end, my heart raced, betraying the anxiety I still couldn’t shake.

Bobby glanced at me, his eyelids lifting in quiet annoyance.

"Didn't she refuse you again and again?" His voice was laced with frustration.

Without warning, he seized my wrist, his grip firm. "I can explain the whole Helena situation to you. Why are you still making a fuss?"

His impatience flared, his tone grew colder. "Is it really because of that girl? You’re willing to throw everything away, including our wedding, over this?"

I felt my cheeks burn with the sting of his words, but I couldn’t find my voice to respond. My throat tightened, my thoughts scattered. Yet, despite the turmoil in my chest, he was determined to push things forward.

"Then I’ll make her leave," he said flatly.

He raised his hand to signal the bodyguard, but I quickly stepped in, shaking my head. "No need."

"I just... don’t want you to be too exhausted," I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.

His expression shifted slightly, the edge of his impatience melting into something gentler. His gaze softened as he considered my words.

Meanwhile, my mother-in-law, who had been anxiously pacing between us, suddenly broke the tension with a hearty laugh.

"Oh! So, you two had a little argument, huh?" she teased, her voice light and cheerful. "You two kids! Always fighting at the head of the bed, then making up at the foot of it!" She laughed again, shaking her head. "Don’t worry about the wedding. Leave it to me!"

With that, she flashed a smile and walked off, her cheerful energy lingering in the air.

Bobby, now called away by his brother, gave me one last look before he followed.

I sat there, utterly exhausted, staring at Bobby’s retreating back. The more I watched him leave, the less I seemed to understand him. Was this marriage even still going to happen?

As the minutes passed, businessmen began to approach, offering toasts and congratulations. I wasn’t in the mood to drink, but I accepted the glasses out of politeness, trying to push aside the confusion gnawing at me. He still hadn’t replied to the message I sent him.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but when I looked up again, I saw Helena heading in the direction Bobby had gone. Without thinking, I followed her.

Then, I heard his voice.

It was absurd, almost laughable. To find Bobby, I had to go through her.

“She and I are already dead in name only,” Bobby’s voice was slurred, heavy with alcohol. “It’s not impossible for her to get married… but after the marriage, all I can give her is a home without a soul.”

“Mr. Evans, you’ve had too much to drink,” someone advised, trying to steady him.

Helena, however, was unbothered, simply stepping in to help him, guiding him away from the crowd.

As they left the courtyard, Helena turned to look at me, her gaze cool and calculating. For a brief moment, I couldn’t tell if she was provoking me or just acting like she was above it all, but either way, her look unsettled me.

In that moment, a wave of frustration and helplessness surged through me, and I grabbed the glass of wine meant for Bobby.

As I left the old house, I caught sight of Helena in Bobby's business car, her posture poised, her eyes cool.

"Madam... Should I call Mr. Evans for you?" the driver asked politely.

I shook my head. "No."

I didn't want to talk to him anymore. Without another word, I got into the car and let the driver take me home.

At home, I went straight to the wine cabinet. I opened two bottles without thinking, pouring myself glass after glass. I was clearly drunk, but the haze in my mind only seemed to deepen as I tried to piece together the events of the day. My thoughts were fragmented, chaotic, and still, I reached for two more bottles.

As I sat there, the numbness slowly taking over, I dialed Bobby’s number without really knowing why.

It wasn’t him who picked up.

Helena’s voice came through the phone, smooth and unbothered. "Madam Nicole, Mr. Evans.."

"Give the phone to Bobby," I demanded, my voice sharp despite the trembling frustration gnawing at me.

"But... Mr. Evans—"

Before my irritation could overtake my reason, Bobby's voice drifted through the line—heavy, thick with drink. "Nicole."

"Bobby, are you coming back today?" My words were more an accusation than a question.

There was a long pause before he answered, as if the weight of the moment was sinking in. "Yes."

I glanced at the clock, the hands ticking louder as time slipped away. "I’ll wait for you until three o’clock. That’s it."

"Yeah."

I hung up, and for a fleeting second, I thought I heard Helena’s soft hum in the background. It was the last straw. My anger flared, and I hurled the wine bottles across the room. They shattered, the glass scattering like the fragments of my patience.

Seven years. Seven years spent building a life, and now, this was the first time I had ever let myself break something, to feel this raw, this helplessness. The anger toward Bobby was all-consuming, but it was the self-loathing that made it unbearable.

When the clock struck three, the finality settled in. I knew, without a doubt, that it was over.