I Found His Mistress... Wearing My Ring - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The lingering heat of their intimate kiss sent an icy chill through my veins, freezing me in the shadows. My heart—that fragile pane of glass—splintered with every muffled sound of their passion. I dug my nails into my palms to stop the shaking, biting my cheek raw to choke back the scream building in my throat. When I finally turned away, my footsteps were as silent as my shattered heart.
The car ride home was torture. Ray insisted Christine ride shotgun, claiming she got carsick. I was banished to the backseat, wedged between crumpled shopping bags, perfume samples, and receipts. The cloying sweetness of Christine's signature scent clung to the air, turning my stomach.
"Susan," Christine drawled, her voice dripping with fake concern, "these are designer pieces. Try not to ruin them with your clumsy hands."
The barb stung. I opened my mouth to fire back, but Ray cut me off with forced cheer. "Susan! I brought you a souvenir from the trip."
Christine jumped in, possessive as ever. "It's in the second bag by the window. The rest are mine—don't get confused."
Rummaging through the bags like some unwanted guest, my fingers brushed against something sheer. I pulled out a scrap of black lace that wouldn't cover a handkerchief. "Ray," I said flatly, dangling the lingerie between two fingers. "This for me?"
Ray went sheet-white. "That's not—"
Christine gasped dramatically, cheeks flushing with performative modesty. "Honestly, Susan!" She snatched the fabric from me. "That's from my boyfriend. Must you rifle through my private things?"
The word "boyfriend" hung in the air like a guillotine. Ray's silence screamed louder than any confession.
When I finally found my "gift"—a flimsy silver bracelet that looked like it came from a vending machine—the truth hit me like a punch to the gut. Every trinket Ray had ever given me was just Christine's leftovers.
"You like it?" Ray asked, guilt creeping into his voice as he watched me in the rearview.
I studied the cheap jewelry. "You don't have to bother."
Christine pounced, her honeyed voice laced with arsenic. "Oh Susan," she cooed, twisting in her seat. "A homemaker like you should be grateful for any gift. Not all of us can appreciate fine things." She tucked her hair back, flashing a diamond bracelet and the telltale love bites on her neck—their "business trip" souvenirs.
Ray tried damage control. "If you don't like it, we'll get you something better at the mall tonight." He shot Christine a look that made my skin crawl.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I whispered, "No need. You promised you'd always stay by my side, Ray. Let's just go home."
The words landed like a grenade. Through the mirror, I watched his fingers brush Christine's in silent reassurance before he finally nodded. "Alright. Home."
For one fragile moment, hope flickered—until we pulled into the driveway. Christine marched to our front door like she owned it, while Ray knelt to help her into house slippers like some devoted servant.
I stood paralyzed as the man I loved doted on another woman. Christine clung to his arm, pointing to our bedroom with a victorious smile. "I'll take the master suite. I'm very particular about mattresses."
Ray had the audacity to explain: "Susan, she just means her bed at home is the same model—"
"Today's my birthday," I interrupted, voice cracking. "Why did you bring her here?"
Without missing a beat, Ray replied coolly, "Christine has stalkers. As her manager, her safety is my responsibility."
The lie was so pathetic it would've been funny—if my whole world wasn't crumbling around me.