“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, his tone shifting back to a forced calm, though the fury simmered beneath.
“Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing,” I countered, taking a ragged breath.
It was a desperate bluff, but it seemed to work. He didn't charge. He simply stood there, breathing heavily, his wounded ego warring with the potential pain of another strike.
I grabbed the oportunity and ran away. Reckless and exhausted, I reached the road outside the villa only to be blinded by headlights
I watched in terror as a black SUV followed me with the speed I couldn't imagine and the next second my back was hit and I was thrown away.
I felt like all the bones in my body were crushed and perhaps this was it. However, what hurt me the most– The black SUV that hit me belonged to Julian, the very same car he went with Lesley.
***
I stayed two whole weeks in the hospital, paralyzed and under coma. Never once did Julian call me or tried to inquire about me. Not even pretending to hide his intend.
When I opened my eyes in a government hospital, I was told to be left by some passersbys.
My trembling fingers found my phone on the bedside table. I powered it on, the sudden bright screen a cruel assault on my eyes.
The notifications flooded in, but one name dominated the screen: Lesley.
A cold knot formed in my stomach as I opened the messaging app. They weren't apologies, nor were they inquiries. They were a digital trail of my husband's betrayal, sent with deliberate, venomous intent.
[Hey! Guess where we are? The Art Gallery downtown! Julian said you always wanted to come here on your birthday, but we just couldn't wait.]
Attached was a picture: Julian, looking happier and more relaxed than he had in years, his arm casually draped over Lesley's shoulders. They were standing in front of a modern abstract piece, a sardonic backdrop to their vulgar reality.
[Just had the most amazing lobster bisque at that fancy new French place Julian loves. He said you took him there once, ever since that day he wanted to take me there to enjoy the food!]
A picture of two champagne flutes clinking, Julian's hand recognizable by the silver watch I had bought him, now raised in a toast to the woman he had sold me for.