Just over two hours ago, I stumbled upon my husband's hidden phone and uncovered the truth of his illicit affair.
Baby! I get so hard thinking about devouring your body again, one message reads. I can't wait for the day it's me you'll be waking up to, reads another.
I scroll through a string of messages on my husband's burner phone. Months of secret conversations between kaden and his mistress—a woman I once admired and trusted.
My finger hovers over the photo gallery. After several agonising seconds, the images load.
A video with a click button icon in the middle flashes across the screen. My breathing stills.
Dear God, no!
My eyes brim with more tears at the sight of my husband, n@ked on top of his equally n@ked mistress lying on her back on the bed, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It takes me no time at all to realise; I've just come across their s-x video. Nausea builds as my heart continues to shatter into pieces.
Oh my God! Oh my f-cking God!
I read over every explicit, intimate detail of their betrayal, each revelation another twist of the knife in my chest.
Pulling out my phone, I quietly snap photo after photo—evidence of six months of betrayal. For now, I'll focus on gathering enough proof that he won't be able to deny a thing when I finally drop the bomb.
______
Two hours.
That's how long I've been sitting in the driver's seat of my Mazda, the clock glowing 2:30 am as I scroll through a string of messages on my husband's burner phone. Months of secret conversations between Kaden and his mistress—a woman I once admired and trusted wholeheartedly. But now that trust is shattered, obliterated beyond repair. My tear-streaked eyes burn as I read over every explicit, intimate detail of their betrayal, each revelation another twist of the knife in my chest.
Baby! I get so hard thinking about devouring your body again, one message reads. I can't wait for the day it's me you'll be waking up to, reads another.
My limbs tremble uncontrollably as I delve deeper into their endless message thread, every brutal exchange exposing the depth of their betrayal. A wave of bile rises in my throat, and I have to summon all my strength to swallow it back down.
This can't be happening! How could they do this to me? My hand flies to my mouth, muffling the raw cries threatening to burst free as tears stream down my cheeks and jaw. The pain in my chest is suffocating, pressing down on me with unbearable weight, making it harder to choke back the sobs. Everything f-cking hurts.
While I'm crumbling inside, they're sleeping peacefully in their beds, probably dreaming of each other, without a care in the world. All I want is to disappear, to curl up in a dark, quiet place and shut out this relentless nightmare until it's finally over.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my sleep shorts, quietly switching on the camera. Positioning it towards my husband's phone screen, I snap image after image, documenting every interaction between Kaden and his mistress from the past six months. After capturing the incriminating texts, I create a new folder labelled 'Evidence', carefully transferring all the photos into the file before saving it to my OneDrive.
For now, I'll focus on gathering enough proof of his infidelity, just enough that there won't be a shred of doubt left after this. It'll be impossible for him to deny anything once I drop the bomb at his feet.
Clicking out of his messages, my index finger instinctively lingers over the photo gallery—knowing full well I'll be entering dangerous territory. But a part of me, the self-destructive part, feels an irresistible urge to uncover everything I've been blind to.
Taking in a few deep breaths, I nervously tap on the icon, bracing myself from what I'm about to see, and will never be able to unsee again. My heart thrashes violently in my chest as I wait for the images to load one by one. After several agonising seconds, the photos load onto the screen, and I slowly close my eyes.
Yes, Skylar. You can do this! How much more can it hurt? Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I count to three before slowly opening my eyes.
Oh God! I was wrong. So very f-cking wrong!
Seeing these images hurts a thousand times more.
A surge of anxiety courses through me, my fingers flicking frantically through the photos of Kaden and his lover. Each image sears into my mind as though it could burn holes straight through my eyes. It takes every ounce of willpower not to hurl the phone through the windshield.
Upon closer inspection, I realise that nearly all the photos, save for a few, were taken in public places—on the beach, at restaurants, shopping centres, bars, and natural reserves. It's as if they didn't even try to hide their affair.
One photo was snapped during a hike in the mountains, the two of them glistening in sweat on their sun-k1ssed skin as passers-by blur in the background. In another shot, they're sitting side by side in a booth of a family restaurant. Kaden's arm is looped comfortably around his mistress's shoulder as they both smile lovingly at each other. How f-cking sweet!
And if that wasn't pure torture, the next photo is a selfie of the two of them lying on their sides on a couch together. The familiarity of the couch tells me the photo was taken inside his lover's home. She's leaning back against his chest; her smile aimed at the camera. Kaden's arms encircle her torso protectively as he presses a gentle k1ss to her temple—a sight that sends a sharp wave of pain flooding through me.
I nervously swipe to the next photo, expecting to be greeted with yet another cheesy cliché selfie, but to my complete and utter shock, a video with a click button icon in the middle flashes across the screen. My breathing stills.
Dear God, no!
My eyes brim with more tears at the sight of my husband, n@ked on top of his equally n@ked mistress lying on her back on the bed, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. It takes me no time at all to realise; I've just come across their s-x video. Nausea builds, as my heart continues to shatter into pieces.
Oh my God! Oh my f-cking God!
The phone slips from my hand, dropping onto my lap with a bounce. Quickly catching the device before it lands on the car floor, my free hand wraps around my throat, as I try to gasp for air. Every part of my body feels constricted. My stomach. My airways. My throat. My heart.
Don't watch it. Save whatever remains of your battered soul.
I chant these words over and over in my head, like a silent prayer. To see their betrayal play out before me, in a scene so explicit, so vivid, will destroy everything within me. I'm barely hanging on as it is. For my sanity, I decide to forgo watching the video, and stop sifting through the remaining photos altogether. My fractured heart can't take anymore.
Instead, I lift my phone and snap photos of the images in Kaden's gallery, quietly adding them to my ever-growing file of evidence. These will definitely come in handy when I divorce his sorry arse.
After this, there will be no room for pleading, no explanations to consider, and absolutely no chance for forgiveness. I'm done—completely, utterly done. He can keep his lies and bullsh1t excuses. I won't waste a single moment of my time listening. Those two vile creatures are welcome to have each other.
I take a moment to calm my breathing, wiping away all traces of my tears before pocketing my phone, and placing Kaden's back in its hiding spot.
To think, just over two hours ago, I stumbled upon his hidden phone and uncovered the truth of his illicit affair, turning everything I once believed about my husband and our marriage upside down. Though the discovery was accidental, it's one I'll always be grateful for.
I had just finished watching my favourite TV series, when I noticed one of the legs on the coffee table had a slight wobble as I wiped a small wine spill from the surface.
Determined to fix the issue on my own, I'd headed to the garage to look for an Allen key. A few minutes into my search, a muffled vibrating sound coming from Kaden's motorbike caught me off guard. Suspecting something might've been malfunctioning, I figured it would be wise to check out the noise.
Not a minute later, the vibrating sound buzzed once again. I followed the noise until it led me to the top box attached to the back of his Kawasaki Ninja. Lifting the lid, I found a helmet, a few takeout receipts, a pen, and a black beanie with Kaden's company logo stitched on the front, all tucked beneath the helmet. As I picked up the beanie, a heavy, solid object slipped out and dropped with a thud on the bottom of the compartment.
As I picked up the fallen object, inspecting it for damage, what I found instead struck me to my core. It was an iPhone, a slightly older model, its locked screen flashing with missed calls and messages. My stomach lurched, an unsettling sense of dread creeping in. Nothing good ever comes from finding a hidden phone.
I hesitated, hoping it would be the same four-digit pin as Kaden's other phone. With a shaky hand, I tapped in the code, and the screen unlocked instantly. In that moment, I knew, that everything in my life would never be the same again.
So, here I am, sitting in my car, parked inside the garage at nearly 3 am in the morning, playing detective on my husband's phone. I'm toying with the idea of hiding it somewhere he won't find, just to watch him panic a bit. It'd definitely get him sweating a little. In a few hours, though, Kaden's alarm will blare through the house, dragging him out of sleep to get ready for work.
Thankfully, my husband is a heavy sleeper. He could probably sleep through a world war, with explosives going off every minute, and still not move an inch. It's no shock that Kaden hasn't come looking for me while I've been sitting in my car, or even noticed I'm missing from our bed. The man sleeps like the dead.
With my mind in complete turmoil and my body weighed down by grief, I feel drained and absolutely exhausted. So, I decide to call it a day, fully aware that sleep will elude me—probably for a long time.
It's early on a Thursday morning and the first week of school holidays. At least I have the whole day ahead to try and rest. God knows, I need it now more than ever.
Quietly stepping out of the car, I gently shut the door and walk the short distance to Kaden's motorbike sitting idle on the other side of the garage. Placing the phone back in the top box, just how he left it, I carefully close the lid, and take in a few deep breaths before making my way back to our bedroom.
After stepping into the bedroom, I move quietly towards my husband's side of the bed. In the still darkness, I can just make out the silhouette of his sleeping form. He looks peaceful, angelic almost, lying on his stomach with one arm under the pillow, the blanket pooled around his waist showcasing his bare torso. His muscular back displays a large Nordic raven tattoo with its wings spread across his shoulder blades, a tribute, he once said, to his Scandinavian roots. Even though the thought of him makes me sick, there's no denying that this man is perfectly sculpted. Effortlessly s-xy.
His eyelids and thick lashes flutter in his sleep, making me wonder if he's dreaming about her? I saunter over to my side of the bed, peeling the blanket back and slowly climbing in, careful not to wake him.
As I lie on my back staring at the ceiling, I can feel my mind and heartbeat racing.
I'm physically and emotionally spent, but I force myself to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
I focus on Kaden's gentle breathing, waiting—hoping—for exhaustion to overtake me. I wait for my mind to quiet, for sleep to finally come and offer a temporary escape. But no matter how long I wait, how desperately I try . . . sleep never arrives.
It's 7 am in the morning, and Kaden has just left for work. The moment I hear the sound of his car reversing out of the driveway, I sit up, throw the covers off me, and head straight into the ensuite for a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away the remnants of last night.
After showering, I slowly get ready for the day ahead. Too angry and hurt to care about my appearance, I slip on a pair of grey trackpants; an old, loose, black t-shirt; and shove my damp hair into a messy bun.
I grimace at the sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror, studying the dark circles beneath my puffy red eyes, and the expression across my face that's etched with pain, sadness and exhaustion. I stare at the haunting image before me, of a once vibrant and carefree woman, now empty and drained of all energy and hope. It's only day one, and I'm moments away from unravelling completely.
Forcing myself to snap out of the mental haze I've been stuck in, I walk over to the bedside table and pick up my phone. A notification on the screen alerts me to a recent text from Kaden.
Kaden: Morning babe. I'm going to the gym straight after work and maybe grab something to eat afterwards with Jason. Have fun at the exhibition tonight and wish Kirstin good luck for me. Love you x.
It takes everything inside of me not to want to slam my phone against the wall.
Liar! That f-cking cheating liar!
How can I ever believe a word he says anymore? Had everything been a lie? Do I really know the man I married, or has he always been a complete stranger?
Not bothering to reply, I throw my phone onto the mattress with so much force it bounces onto the carpet with a thud as my anger propels me forward with quick heavy steps, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Making it to the fridge, I open the door and retrieve a bottle of water. I'm dehydrated and distraught, and possibly losing my mind too. I need to get some f-cking sleep.
I'm just about to take a generous sip when a loud knock on the front door startles me, making me almost drop the bottle of water. Slamming the bottle on the counter in annoyance, I stomp towards the front door to berate whoever the he1l is visiting me at this ungodly hour.
Flinging the door open, I'm instantly greeted by my two best friends, standing on the porch, looking fresh as daisies.
My little sister, Mila, who is eight years my junior, at twenty-three, has always looked stunning no matter what time of the day. Much to our mother's displeasure, we both took after our Venezuelan-born father with our dark brown hair, honey-coloured eyes, and smooth olive complexion.
Mila's always been the more confident and wiser out of us two. Her intelligence, beauty, and athleticism combined, make her an unstoppable force—a real triple threat.
Then there's Lucia, my colleague turned best friend. We instantly hit it off and quickly became friends outside of work. She's fiery, charming, and outgoing. Being two years younger than me, at twenty-nine, she works hard but likes to play harder.
Wherever she goes, men turn their heads, and she knows it too. Lucia loves the attention. But it's her sharp tongue and unfiltered remarks, that adds to her appeal. It's something I've always envied and admired about her—the ability to voice her opinions without apology.
The two women stare at me with matching frowns, as their gazes slowly take in my outfit from head to toe.
"Umm . . . What the he1l are you wearing?" asks Mila.
I glance down at my clothes, and shrug. "My home clothes, why?" I reply, feeling confused by the irritation in her voice.
"Sky, what the he1l! Why aren't you ready? We tried calling you twice on our way here, but you never answered your phone. You look like sh1t by the way," Lucia snaps as she continues to assess my current state, her eyes narrowing. "You forgot, didn't you?"
"What?" I ask innocently, as I try to break through the brain fog so I can remember what it was that I was meant to be doing this morning.
Mila frowns, looking equal parts worried and annoyed. "Skylar, we organised to have breakfast this morning at that new café next to Mum's place. We've only been waiting two weeks to try it out. Why didn't you answer your phone? And why does it look like you haven't slept in a year?" Mila presses.
My husband's affair has been the only thing on my mind, and add the lack of sleep into the mix, I'm about as useful as a fork in a bowl of soup.
My attempt at an apologetic smile is met with more frowns. "Look, I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel today's breakfast. My phone was in my room while I was in the kitchen grabbing something to drink. I wasn't feeling well last night, and didn't get any sleep. So, I think it's best that I stay home and try and catch up on some rest. I've also got Kirstin's exhibition tonight. I'm helping her set up and need all the energy I can muster for that."
Mila and Lucia glance at each other for a brief moment before settling their eyes on me.
Lucia feigns a sigh of defeat. "Okay, fine. Mila and I will just go somewhere else for today because going there without you feels wrong. But you better make it next time, or I'll be dragging you by the hair, whether you're ready or not. And you're paying."
I nod and let out a soft chuckle. "Deal. I'll call you to rearrange a time. I really am sorry, guys. I promise I'll make it up to you."
"Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises. You better, bit-h, or you'll be paying for lunch and dinner. Maybe a few margaritas too," Lucia quips.
"Get some rest, Skylar. We'll talk soon," Mila says before they both take off in the direction of her car.
Waiting until they're both settled in the car, I give them one final wave before closing the door. Turning around, my eyes slowly scan the open living space that holds so many memories of Kaden and I together. From the excitement of moving in after we just purchased the house, to the gradual process of turning it into a home. Now, everything inside has been tainted, ruined, destroyed. And it's all their fault!
Their torrid affair has been nothing but reckless, as if they think their actions have no consequences. It shows their blatant disrespect and disregard for me and our marriage, as if my heart and my feelings are insignificant to their own selfish desires. I hate them for doing this to me. For making me look like a fool. I will never forgive them for this.
The nauseating feeling in my stomach returns, making me lose my appetite altogether. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think about anything else.
Growing more and more irritable by the minute, I decide to spend the rest of the morning on the couch watching TV. And if I'm lucky, maybe catch up on some sleep before I meet up with Kirstin in a few hours.
I refuse to do any of my usual routine chores.
f-ck the cleaning.
f-ck the cooking.
f-ck running errands.
Most of all, f-ck them both.
Once again, sleep eludes me. After hours of tossing, turning, sighing, and staring blankly at the ceiling, I finally give in and decide to head over to see Kirstin instead.
I'm ready and out of the house in record time, eager to get away from this place. Away from this suffocating house that has now become my own personal he1l. I start the car and check my phone for any new messages from Kaden. None.
For the past decade, since the very start of our relationship, Kaden never once failed to text or call me throughout the day. Most of the time, his messages were sweet and affectionate; other times, they were downright annoying. But no matter how busy he was, he always made the time and effort to check in. These last few months, those messages have become fewer and farther between—and now, I finally understand why. f-cking basta-d!
After texting Kirstin that I'm on my way, I reverse out of the garage, scowling as my eyes land on Kaden's motorbike. The memory of what's hidden in the compartment still burns in the front of my mind. Fighting the urge to drive straight through it, I practice my meditation breaths, before closing the garage door with the remote.
Within seconds, I'm peeling out of the drive way and into the street. The street I've always felt safe in and that once brought comfort and familiarity, now lined with tainted memories. The threat of losing everything we've built because of Kaden's selfishness and betrayal makes me want to throw up all over the dashboard.
I turn up the radio, trying to drown out the relentless thoughts, and focus on the road ahead—on the instant sense of relief that washes over me at the thought of seeing my best friend again.
Thirty-five minutes later, I arrive at the gallery holding two soy hazelnut lattes in both hands—our coffee of choice. I scan the room and spot Kirstin in the back, indie music playing softly in the background as she places a hook on a panel wall where her paintings will hang.
Kirstin Wells, a fine arts student and local artist, is the only child of Ugandan-born social worker Natale Okello and Scottish-Australian humanities lecturer Dr Richard Wells. She's my rock, my ride-or-die—the kind of friend who'd show up with a baseball bat in one hand and a shovel in the other if anyone ever dared to hurt those she cared about. For Kaden's sake, let's hope it never comes to that.
We've been best friends for over fifteen years, ever since we met at an open day at the university where we did our undergrad. Young, reckless, and a little naïve, we clicked pretty much instantly. Since then, she's become someone I could trust and depend on—a true soul sister.
I watch silently as she carefully places a canvas on the hook she just nailed onto the wall. She looks striking in faded ripped jeans, black leather ankle boots, and a charcoal grey band t-shirt, tucked loosely into her jeans. Tattoos swirl around her forearms, her nose ring glistens from the sunlight penetrating through the floor to ceiling windows. Her curly hair, the colour of obsidian, is pulled up high in a messy bun, accentuating her long neck, warm brown skin and soft heart-shaped face.
She glances over at me and instantly smiles.
"There's my girl!" she hollers from across the room, her smooth, husky voice, calm and comforting. I stroll towards her and without warning, she rushes over to me, giving me one of her bone-crushing hugs.
"It's good to see you too, my friend." I chuckle, pivoting around to take in the beauty of her artwork displayed along the wall. "Wow, Kirstin, it's already looking incredible. I'm always so in awe of your talent and creativity. How's it coming along by the way?" I ask, handing over her latte.
She sighs in relief, retrieving the cup from me and taking a long sip. Her eyes slowly close as she savours the warmth and sweet taste of the beverage. "Thanks, honey. I always appreciate your support." She glances up at her paintings with a look of pride and admiration on her face. "I'm getting there. There are a few large canvases left to hang up, those are the ones I'll need your help with. But my arms are getting sore from nailing hooks on the wall for the past hour. Break time?"
I nod and she leads us both to the leather chairs situated in the centre of the room.
Sitting side by side, we sit in comfortable silence, sipping our lattes while appreciating the pieces she's selected for tonight's exhibition.
A few minutes later, I feel Kirstin's warm hand settling on my knee, halting the nervous bouncing I hadn't even realised I was doing since we sat down. I peer up to find a look of worry etched across her face.
Kirstin has always possessed an uncanny sense of intuition. Her empathetic nature allows her to pick up on when something's off. She's exceptional at reading people, sensing whether they're to be trusted or not.
It's that same intuition that warned me from the beginning that there was something not quite right about Kaden. She never hid her distaste for my husband, and had always believed I could do better. Ever since she discovered Kaden had lied about his job early in our relationship, she's been excessively critical of him—constantly analysing his every move, and scrutinising every word he says.
A few months after Kaden and I started dating, we moved into our first apartment together. And one night, while having dinner and a couple of bottles of wine between us, he admitted that he never actually worked at his friend's removalist company like he claimed. I was angry that he lied, but it wasn't until he revealed what he actually did for a living that I became absolutely livid.
To my horror, he confessed that a weeks before we met, he began helping some friends steal products from trucks and anywhere else they could find valuable items to rob and sell online. I was utterly disgusted and outraged. Not only was he a liar, but a f-cking criminal too. Immediately after that conversation, I broke up with him and moved out.
Over the course of our five-week separation, I received countless messages and calls from Kaden, each one filled with apologies and attempts to explain himself. He claimed he got into stealing to help pay off his parents' debts after his father's car accident forced him out of work. Kaden expressed deep remorse, pleading with me for a second chance.
He went on to tell me that he left that life behind the moment we started dating, confessing that he had instantly fallen in love with me and knew he needed to change. Before I knew what I was doing, I was packing my things and moving back in with him.
During our time apart, Kaden managed to secure a respectable job at a car rental company, the very company he now manages. His strong work ethic propelled him up the professional ladder faster than anyone else in the organisation. He always liked to remind me that all the time and effort he put in to being successful was so that he could prove to me that that he was the partner I deserved. And for years, I truly believed he was.
After three glorious years, he asked me to marry him during a trip to New York. We married a year later in Fiji, in a small and intimate ceremony, surrounded by our closest family and friends. Six years later, life with him had been series of highs and lows. But for the most part, our marriage was solid and secure, built on trust and loyalty. That is, until several months ago.
"Everything okay? You seem nervous today," Kirstin gently asks.
I let out a heavy sigh. "There's something I need to tell you, but I don't know how to explain it without crying. And I really don't want to ruin what will be a very special night for you." I stare at the paintings as I speak, trying to avoid Kirstin's gaze. But I can feel her eyes studying my profile, sensing her growing worry and apprehension.
"Don't worry about tonight, hon. If there's something wrong, then my only concern is you. Take your time, I can wait. I'm here for you, always," she assures me, taking my hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"To save me from explaining it all, why don't I just show you." I place the coffee cup on the ground and retrieve my phone from my bag. I bring up the photos I took of the conversations between Kaden and his lover. Trying to control the slight tremble in my hands, I pass the phone to my best friend. She eyes me quizzically for a few seconds before taking the phone from me.
For the next twenty minutes, she takes her time reading the messages without saying a word, apart from the occasional gasping, grumbling or sighing that escapes her mouth. After what seemed like an eternity, Kirstin places the phone on her lap, glances up at the ceiling and slowly closes her eyes, as if she's in pain. I hear her sharp exhale, and I can tell she's trying her hardest to contain her anger. The expression on her face is one of complete fury, enough to gather a severe storm.
"My God. I . . . I don't even know what to say right now," she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't even describe how I felt reading that—because all I could think about was jumping in my car, driving straight to Kaden's work, and murdering him in broad daylight. This is a betrayal of the worst kind, hon. He didn't just screw around with a random woman; this bit-h is someone who's close to you," she snaps, her gaze landing on my phone still on her lap.
Her hands clutch the edge of her seat turning her knuckles white. I stay silent, giving her space and time to process everything.
Kirstin's eyes meet mine again, sharper and more serious. "Honey, listen to me. You can't stay with him after this. He's had too many chances given to him, none which he deserved by the way, but this . . ." She snatches the phone from her lap and holds it up in front of me. "This is unforgivable—beyond f-cking repair. No apology will ever make what he did right. You can never trust him again." She shakes her head in anger before muttering, "I'm gonna gut him like a fish," under her breath.
"I know, I won't. I just don't know what to do next. I don't have a plan in place, and until I do, I can't do anything about it."
She shakes her head, as if to disagree. "You can stay with me, or move back in with your mother if you're more comfortable. Whatever you decide, we will help you get through this."
Now it's my turn to shake my head at the idea of moving back home. "No. I can't do that. Kaden will only follow me wherever I go. And I don't want to involve anyone or burden them with my f-cked-up mess of a marriage."
"Babe, we're going to be involved whether you want us to be or not because there is no way in he1l, we're letting you do this alone," Kirstin states firmly.
"If I stay with you or my mother, Kaden will find me, and then do everything in his power to convince me to come home. You know what he's like. He's manipulative and controlling, he'll never let me go willingly. I need to leave—get away from him as far as possible."
"Why should you be the one to leave? That house is very much yours as it is his. He f-cked up. He chose to lie and deceive you and for that he deserves to lose everything. He's the one who should be out on his arse, not you," Kirstin seethes.
"To be honest, I don't want the house. Everything that once made our house a home was destroyed the moment he decided to shove his d-ck inside another woman. It feels tainted, cold and empty now. I want nothing more to do with it."
Kirstin sighs then reaches for my hand, holding it firmly into hers. My eyes fall to where our hands connect. "Look at me," she whispers softly.
I slowly gaze up at her and see nothing but understanding in her face. My eyes brim with unshed tears. "What am I going to do, Kirstin? I haven't even fully processed it all. It's been slowly ripping me apart."
Kirstin pulls me in for a hug, and it's then, I let it all spill out. The betrayal. The heartache. The grief. The loss. She allows me to sob in her arms, while whispering soothing words in my ear. A short moment later, we pull away from each other, our hands connecting once again.
Kirstin looks at me with an empathetic gaze. "Here is what we're going to do. We are going to finish setting all this up." She motions to the canvases lying flat on the ground. "Then, we get through my show tonight. You're going to come to my place and stay for the weekend. We're going to come up with a plan, one that will completely blindside him. He won't see it coming. We'll make sure he has no time to react or think of a way to manipulate you into staying. When you return home after the weekend, act as if everything is normal. Do not confront him or let him suspect you know about the affair. When the time is right, you need to be prepared to leave—quietly, without a word, without a trace."
Anxiety courses through me as I soak in Kirstin's words. "Do you think I can really pull it off?" I ask.
"Honey, it's either you leave on your own terms, or you let him make things harder for you. Like you said, he won't let you go willingly. He'll follow you wherever you go until he wears you down. There's no point in hearing his excuses when the evidence speaks for itself. Leaving him high and dry is the only way. It's the least he deserves. Don't think for a moment that you're running. What you're doing is walking away from a very toxic person who no longer deserves your love, time and energy."
My best friend has always been loyal to a fault—she'd go to the ends of the earth for me. She's the one who's always in my corner, the one person I know would never betray me.
A genuine smile spreads across my face for the first time since discovering Kaden's affair. Kirstin stands up from her seat and stretches her hand out to me. "Are you ready, my friend? Are you ready to turn your life around?"
I nod and take her hand. "Let's do this."
