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It does serve him right. Tiffany throws a fit,
demands a house too. $1.1 million. Mark’s not
stupid. He won’t buy her a house. He says
she’s the one, that he’d leave me and the
kids for her. But talk is cheap. He’d give me a
house before he’d give her one.
く
I’m still his wife. The history we have, the
sincerity, it’s something a two–year fling can’t
match. Two years, 700+ nights… it’s lost its
shine.
I make Mark’s favorite dinner. He devours it.
That’s men for you. They get tired of the
same old thing, then they come crawling
back.
But he doesn’t get to call the shots anymore.
I wait until he’s asleep to join him in bed. I’m
disgusted, but I can’t be too obvious. This is
hard.
He rolls over, his hand on my skin. I tense up.
Men and women are different. Men think
having multiple women is a status symbol.
Sharing a man makes me sick.
<
I snap a picture of him sleeping. Caption: “My
man is still my man.”
Visible only to Tiffany.
Let him think we’re fighting over him.
I’m up before dawn. I don’t want to deal with
him waking up. I start making steamed buns,
a time–consuming process. Less chance of
suspicion.
When they’re ready, I wake the kids. We
stand over Mark, calling his name. He opens
his eyes to his adorable children. Even a
monster would melt.
He sits up, smiling.
“Honey,” I say sweetly. “All the kids in our
Г
son’s class have education funds. Should we
get one?”
While he’s still smiling, I add, “And a life
insurance policy for our daughter. She’s
young, so it’s a good time to start.”
“Sure,” he mumbles.
“Kids, thank Daddy! He’s getting you college funds and life insurance!”
I grab his phone, use his fingerprint to unlock it, and transfer $100k.
He sees the zeros, starts to question it, but I hug all three of them. “And I’m getting some new clothes and bags. I don’t want to
embarrass you looking like a frumpy mom.‘
I don’t tell him the house I bought for my
parents is in my mom’s name.
I underestimated Tiffany. We’re basking in
family bliss when Mark’s phone rings.
It’s a video call. Tiffany’s on our roof, sobbing
dramatically. “Mark! You promised you
wouldn’t stay with her! You liar!”
The picture worked.
Seriously? Is sleeping together the issue?
Shouldn’t she–be focused on getting a house?
I kind of want to see her jump. He called me
dramatic when I threatened it.
She’s putting on quite a show. There’s a
crowd. She’s demanding marriage. Jump or
<
She’s really hamming it up, mascara running.
Why wear makeup to a suicide attempt? Now
she looks worse than a ghost.
Damn. A house for a divorce. Not a great
trade.
I forgot. Tiffany’s spoiled. No coming home,
no sleeping with me.
That’s the difference between love and not
love. I got cocky.
Mark and I race to the roof. She’s bargaining
with him. I don’t hesitate. I run, grab her,
shove her into Mark’s arms. “Take care of
your woman. Give her what she wants.”
Mark frowns. “What were you thinking? That
was dangerous!”
<
Shouldn’t he be worried about her?
I roll my eyes. “Remember when I did this?”
He flinches. His knuckles, white a second
ago, go slack.
It’s funny. He doesn’t care about my pain.
Now that his precious Tiffany’s threatening to
jump, he feels it.
Too little, too late.”
Tiffany doesn’t thank me. She glares,
mascara smeared like war paint. “Why did
you save me?”
I ignore her, walk away.
I vomit in a trash can. This is truly disgusting.
