REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 60: Chapter 60

I knew where he was though. The desert. Dubai. Probably busy kissing the Sheik’s feet and trying not to cry under his $2,000 sunglasses. And trust me, those Sheikhs? They don’t forget. Nor forgive. I imagined him out there, sweating through his designer blazer, haunted by sandstorms and his terrible decision-making. He’s probably wandering the dunes like a giraffe out from the snow mountain—confused, lost, and strangely tall for no reason. Whatever that means.
And me?
Oh, I was thriving.
Gym. Yes. The place of pain, sweat, and people who look like they’ve eaten nothing but quinoa and resentment for five years. But boy, it felt good. I was back. I had lost fifteen pounds, and let me tell you, abs were trying to say hello again, one confused muscle at a time.
The mirror started to respect me again. I caught myself flexing while brushing my teeth and winking at my own reflection like, "Hey you... yeah, you dangerous spaghetti."
Then—boom.
At 3AM, just when I was dreaming of Idris Elba feeding me strawberries and affirmations, the door banged. I mean it was Catherine who dreamed, not me, the Legendary Leon. No that's really ew!
Not knocked. Banged. Like a drunk gorilla trying to enter a bank.
I jolted awake, hair looking like a sad haystack, pajama shorts twisted like I had fought a wind god. I grabbed my pink glitter slipper like it was a weapon and tiptoed to the door like a cartoon ninja.
Opened it.
There he was.
Ray.
The husband. Smelling like vomit, lost dreams, and three kinds of regrets. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a belly that looked like it had seen better days. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath could melt paint, and he was swaying like he was dancing to music only he could hear.
“Ba—babe,” he slurred, grinning, arms wide. “I missed you.”
I blinked. “It’s 3AM. Are you drunk?”
“Nooo,” he said, tripping over the doormat. “I’m just… spiritually hydrated.”
Before I could slam the door, the kids appeared like summoned demons.
“DADDY!”
“Yay, dad’s here!”
Suddenly, it was a Disney reunion scene. Hugs. Laughter. Jaya climbed up his leg like a monkey. Maya asked if he brought cake. He didn’t. Obviously. Aliya just raised her brow like a drama queen.
I stood there, clutching my glittery slipper, dead inside.
After the kids calmed down and went back to sleep—bless their souls—I sat him down on the couch that I had just bought with blood money and revenge.
“I want a divorce,” I said simply, voice calm, tone ice-cold.
He blinked. Then blinked again, like I had just told him I was moving to Mars with Elon Musk.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t want a divorce,” he said. “I still love you.”
I let out a laugh so dry, the Sahara filed a copyright claim. “You still love me? Ray, you disappeared for almost a year. Left me with kids, debt, and a laundry machine that sings ‘Despacito’ every time I press rinse.”
I am Leon, the drama queen.
He looked confused. “I was figuring stuff out…”
“While figuring out how many tequila shots you can survive before face-planting into some stranger’s bathroom tiles?”
His face hardened. “I want to come back. I’ll take the kids if I have to.”
I snapped.
“Oh no, you won’t. If you even think about taking those kids—my babies—I will end you.”
He stood. “You can’t stop me. I’m their father.”
I stood too. All 5’4” of rage, motherly wrath, and protein shakes.
“Oh Ray,” I said sweetly, pulling a spoon from the mug I had just used. “If you ever come back here uninvited again, I will stab you with a spoon and write I told you so with a pen on your forehead while you sleep.”
He blinked. The room froze.
A fly paused mid-air. The fridge stopped humming.
Even the neighbor’s cat stared through the window in fear.
Ray gulped. “You’re… crazy.”
I smiled wide, like a woman on the brink of becoming a legend. “I’m a mother of three. Of course I’m crazy.”
He backed up, tripped over a Lego, and limped out the door like a wounded llama.
I locked the door, exhaled, and turned around.
There, Aliya stood sleepily, holding her teddy bear.
“Mommy, are we still getting the rainbow bed tomorrow?”
“Yes, baby,” I said, scooping her up. “And maybe a new daddy if the next one isn’t stupid.”
From the desert dunes to a living room laced with vengeance and bedtime milk, one thing was clear—
This mama, this Leon wasn’t messing around.
It would’ve been beautiful if Ray got the hint.
But Ray was stupid. The kind of stupid that makes you look at a wall and say, “Damn, that drywall got more brain cells.”
Because the very next day—he came back.
With flowers.
And a stuffed toy. And breath that still smelled like someone had mixed gin, cheap regret, and bad life choices into a smoothie.
He knocked on my door like nothing happened, smiling with chipped pride and one eyebrow that refused to grow back evenly.
“Babe,” he said. “Let’s talk.”
Talk?
I stared at him, dead-eyed, wearing my oversized ‘World’s Best Mistake’ hoodie and fuzzy pink slippers that had seen war. The coffee in my hand was still hot. My soul was not.