When I came back from a vacation early, I found my husband not just with another woman—but with my younger sister. They didn’t care about caution, conscience, or any boundaries: they were entertaining themselves in our bedroom, in my bed. Forgive him? Never. He’ll regret it.
“Ada, calm down. You’re behaving stupidly. Throwing a tantrum like an idiot.”
At such audacity, even my bag slips from my hands, and my things scatter across the floor with a loud clatter. Is he serious? “Stupid”? He slept with my sister, and now he’s also trying to paint me as the guilty one?!
The pain fades—replaced by other feelings: anger, disappointment, rage.
“I’m the one who’s normal. And you will regret it. Every year you’ve spent next to me will cost you too much. You won’t be able to pay it back.”