My name's Amelia. When I saw the picture of John and his mistress tangled up in bed, I knew it was over. What stung more than the betrayal was the audacity – she sent it on our anniversary. Soon after, John came home, a cold, hard look in his eyes. He wanted a divorce. Her reason? She was pregnant, and after five years, I couldn't give him kids.
Little did he know, the joke was on him. He was the infertile one.
John's affair had been a long time coming. Late nights at the office turned into nights spent elsewhere. The sweet scent of perfume and strategically placed lipstick marks told a story I refused to acknowledge. His affection had turned into tired sighs and empty promises. One night, I finally broke down.
"John, what's going on? We built this life together, why can't you talk to me?"
He looked at me, really looked, for the first time in months. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with something akin to guilt.
"I'm sorry, babe. Work's been crazy. I'm just… tired." He pulled me close, his breath hot against my ear. "Tomorrow's our anniversary. Let me make it up to you."
I clung to his words, desperate for a reason to believe him.
The next day, He booked us this fancy rooftop place. It was freezing that night, but I sat there, watching the clock tick by. Fireworks were going off in the distance, this cruel reminder of what we were supposed to be celebrating.
My phone buzzed.
"Babe, happy five years! Here's to many more to come." I could barely see the message through my tears. The man I was waiting for was wrapped around someone else right now.
There wasn't going to be any "more to come" for us.
Her name was Chloe, and she worked at John's company. I knew the moment he hired her that she was trouble. He couldn't stop singing her praises, his eyes gleaming with an all too familiar light. When I jokingly asked if he had a thing for her, he got defensive, almost offended.
“She’s just an employee, Amelia. You know I only have eyes for you.”
His reassurance did little to quell the unease in my gut.
One day, I went to surprise John at work with lunch. That’s when the whispers started. I saw Chloe in the hallway, her mascara running down her face, pleading with me.
“Amelia, please! I’m not a homewrecker. I just graduated, this is my first real job, don't make me leave!”
John appeared behind her, his face a mask of displeasure. Rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by Chloe's crocodile tears. Suddenly, I was the "heartless wife" trying to sabotage the "poor, innocent graduate." John defended me publicly, claiming it was a smear campaign by a rival company, but the damage was done.
That night, John held me close, whispering apologies. I wanted to believe him, I really did. But something told me this was just the beginning. Chloe wasn't going to give up so easily.
Things escalated quickly. John came home drunk one night, collapsing on the couch with a hiccup. It wasn’t unusual for him to work late, but recently, it had become the norm. The smell of her perfume, however, was a new addition to his usual post-work musk.
“Who were you drinking with?” My voice trembled, barely a whisper.
“Just… business partners,” he mumbled, waving me away.
He reached for his water glass, but I grabbed his hand, my fingers digging into his skin. He shoved me away, sending me crashing into the coffee table. My head throbbed, and I tasted blood.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he yelled.
Then, he saw the blood.
His anger evaporated, replaced by a panic I’d never seen before. He scrambled for the first aid kit, his hands shaking.
As I sat there, dazed and bleeding, I saw his phone light up. Chloe’s message flashed across the screen.
“Home yet, babe?”
“Don’t worry, I won't tell your wife you drank so much ;)”
John swiped the notification away, his face pale. He called for an ambulance, his voice strained. I laughed, a dry, humorless sound that caught in my throat.
The game was on.
At the hospital, after the doctor stitched up my head, John held my hand, his eyes bloodshot and filled with remorse.
“Amelia, I’m so sorry, I…”.
I cut him off, pulling out my phone. I dialed a number, the familiar ringtone echoing in the sterile room.
“Hey, it’s Amelia. I need you to look into someone for me. Chloe Miller.”
John went white as a sheet. He tried to pry the phone away, his voice pleading.
“Amelia, please don't do this. I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
I looked at him, my heart aching. This wasn’t the man I married. This wasn’t the man who swore to love and cherish me.
“I just… I’m just curious about her, that’s all. Indulge me?”
He hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the phone. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He took the phone and made the call.
I already knew everything about Chloe. I'd had my suspicions, but a little digging revealed a pattern of manipulation and gold-digging. She was a pro at worming her way into wealthy men's lives.
I took John's phone and sent Chloe a message, inviting her to our house next week.
“Really?! You’re letting me come over? This is amazing! Don't worry, Amelia will never know ;)”
I didn't bother replying.
John looked at me, a mixture of fear and confusion in his eyes. I smiled, a slow, deliberate movement that sent chills down his spine.
This was just the beginning.
Chloe arrived at our house, dressed in a flimsy negligee that left little to the imagination. She froze when she saw me, her eyes widening in surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
I smiled sweetly. “This is my house, Chloe.” I walked towards her, holding a file in my hand.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” I said, slapping the file against her cheek. “Next time you try to seduce a married man, at least have the decency to dress appropriately. This isn't some cheap motel.”
Chloe flinched, tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to hide behind John, but he turned away, avoiding her gaze. She glared at me, her face contorted in a mask of anger and humiliation.
I tossed the file on the table. Chloe hesitated for a moment before grabbing it, her hands shaking. She flipped it open, her eyes widening as she saw the photos scattered across the pages. Photos of her with various men, all older, all wealthy.
“High school bully who drove a classmate to attempt suicide,” I said, my voice cold. “College student who slept with her professor for good grades. And now, a corporate climber who uses sex as a ladder to the top. You’re quite the overachiever, Chloe.”
With each word I spoke, John's face turned a shade paler. He grabbed the file from Chloe's trembling hands, his eyes scanning the damning evidence.
Chloe sank to the floor, a pathetic mess of tears and excuses. She clung to John's leg, begging for forgiveness. He shoved her away, his eyes filled with disgust.
I crouched down in front of her, my fingers digging into her chin. “You can continue with this charade, but I have a feeling your friend Mr. Thompson’s wife, who happens to live upstairs, would be very interested in seeing these photos.”
Chloe went silent.
She stood up, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She gathered the photos, her eyes downcast, and walked out of the house without another word.
John broke down then, collapsing onto the couch, his sobs wracking his body. I sat beside him, running my fingers through his hair.
“It’s over,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please, Amelia, let’s start over. I’ll be a better husband, I promise.”
I looked at him, my heart a tangled mess of emotions. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to go back to the way things were. But some wounds are too deep to heal.
“Okay,” I said softly.
John’s face lit up with hope. He pulled me close, burying his face in my hair. But as he held me, I felt a coldness spread through me, a sense of detachment that I knew would never go away.
The trust was broken, and no amount of apologies could fix that.
John tried to make amends. He was attentive, showering me with gifts and affection. He even started cooking me breakfast, a stark contrast to the distant, workaholic husband he'd become. It was almost like old times, back when we were young and struggling to build a life together.
Chloe, now demoted and ostracized, kept a low profile at work. Her days were numbered, and we both knew it.
Just when I thought things were settling into a fragile peace, John dropped a bombshell. He had to go to Paris for work. With Chloe.
Apparently, she was instrumental to the project, and there was no time to replace her. As I dropped him off at the airport, he wouldn't meet my eyes.
“Come with me,” he pleaded, his grip on my hand tight. “Please, Amelia. You can supervise me, I won’t even look at her.”
The fact that he thought I needed to supervise him spoke volumes.
“And if I don’t go? Will you run back into her arms?”
He panicked, shaking his head vehemently.
“No! Of course not! It’s just… please, Amelia. For us?”
I watched as he walked through security, his shoulders slumped with guilt. Chloe, struggling with her suitcase, tried to catch up to him. He flinched, putting distance between them. She followed his gaze, her eyes meeting mine.
A surge of satisfaction coursed through me as I saw the anger and jealousy in her eyes.
Let her have her little victory. John would come crawling back to me eventually.
He always did.
Except this time, he didn’t.
Two weeks later, John returned from Paris.
I waited for him at the baggage claim, a pit of dread forming in my stomach. When he finally emerged, he looked like a ghost of his former self – haggard, unshaven, and utterly defeated. Chloe wasn't far behind, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
“We need to talk,” John said, his voice devoid of emotion.
We sat in our living room, the silence deafening. Chloe, however, seemed perfectly at ease, her eyes darting between John and me with a smug smile playing on her lips.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Amelia,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “You had your chance, but you couldn't give him what he wanted.” She placed a hand on her stomach, her voice laced with smugness. “Looks like I’m the one carrying his heir now.”
I laughed, a dry, humorless sound that echoed through the room.
“Pregnant? Oh, honey, you really are delusional, aren’t you?”
John shot up from his chair, his face contorted in anger. “Amelia! How dare you talk to her like that?”
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Chloe’s pale face. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell him. Tell him whose baby you’re really carrying.”
Chloe’s eyes widened in fear. She looked from me to John, her face draining of all color. John seemed to sense something was wrong. He turned to Chloe, his voice tight.
“What is she talking about?”
Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes darting back and forth between us.
I stood up, my gaze unwavering. “Don’t worry, Chloe. I’ll tell him. You see, John and I… we’ve been keeping a little secret. A secret that you’re about to make very public.”
I walked towards the door, leaving John and Chloe frozen in their seats. As I reached the hallway, I turned back, a triumphant smile spreading across my lips.
“Oh, and John? I think it’s time you scheduled a paternity test. Just to be sure, you know?”
And with that, I walked out of the house, leaving John to face the consequences of his actions alone.
John’s world came crashing down around him. He stood there, paralyzed, as Chloe’s lies unraveled before his very eyes. He remembered the day Amelia had casually suggested he get tested, back when they were still trying to conceive. He'd brushed it off, convinced it was her, not him. The memory stung like salt in a wound.
He whirled around, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation.
“What is she talking about, Chloe? Answer me!”
Chloe, backed into a corner, finally cracked. Tears streamed down her face as she launched into a teary, rambling explanation. It was all a lie, she confessed, a desperate attempt to hold onto the life she thought she could have with him. She never meant for things to go this far.
John, disgusted and heartbroken, walked out. He didn’t look back. He went straight to his mother, the one person he knew would tell him the truth. The news of Chloe's betrayal had spread like wildfire, and his mother, ever the pragmatist, had already started digging. She confirmed Amelia’s story, revealing Chloe's web of lies and manipulations.
John was devastated. He had lost everything – his wife, his company, his dignity. And for what? For a woman who never loved him, a child that wasn't his.
He spent the next few weeks drowning his sorrows, each drunken night blurring into the next. He showed up at Amelia’s doorstep, begging for forgiveness, but she wouldn’t let him in. He’d made his choice, and now he had to live with the consequences.
Months went by. Chloe gave birth to a baby girl, a constant reminder of John’s folly. The paternity test confirmed what they already knew – the child wasn’t his. Chloe, ostracized and alone, disappeared from their lives as quickly as she’d entered, leaving John to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.
He threw himself into work, trying to salvage what was left of his company. He’d pushed Amelia away, convinced she was better off without him. But deep down, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.
One day, John found himself standing outside Amelia’s new apartment. He’d heard she was moving, and a desperate hope bloomed in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could still fix this.
He watched as she loaded boxes into a moving van, her movements graceful and efficient. She looked different – stronger, more confident. She was thriving, and it was a painful reminder of what he’d lost.
Gathering his courage, he approached her, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Amelia,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
She turned, her expression guarded. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the years of history and heartbreak passing between them.
“John,” she said, her voice flat. “What are you doing here?”
He held up a bouquet of lilies, her favorite. He remembered how much she loved them, how he used to surprise her with a fresh bouquet every week.
“I, uh… I brought you these.”
Amelia stared at the flowers, her expression unreadable.
“And I… I got you these.” He held out a box from her favorite bakery, his hand trembling.
He remembered how, in their early years, they could barely afford groceries, let alone fancy pastries. He'd promised her that one day, when he had money, he’d buy her all the pastries her heart desired.
A flicker of something akin to sadness crossed Amelia’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She stepped aside, opening the door to her apartment.
“It’s a little late for apologies, John,” she said, her voice cold.
He followed her inside, his heart sinking. The apartment was bare, stripped of all traces of her warmth and personality. It was a stark reminder of the emptiness he’d created.
“Amelia, please. Let me explain.”
“Explain what, John? That you threw away our marriage for a lie? That you believed the worst about me without even giving me a chance to explain?”
“I know, I know, I was a fool! I was blinded by… by her lies, by my own stupidity.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and anger.
“I gave you so many chances, John. So many opportunities to tell me the truth. But you chose her, every single time.”
John felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He knew she was right. He had betrayed her in the worst way possible.
“I know I messed up. I messed up badly. But please, Amelia, give me another chance. I can change. I’ll prove it to you.”
Amelia shook her head, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut him to the core.
“We’re already divorced, John,” she said softly. “There’s nothing left to fix.”
She picked up the last box, her back to him. John felt a lump form in his throat. He knew, deep down, that it was over. He had lost her for good.
“Goodbye, John.”
And with that, she walked out the door, leaving him standing there, alone with the echoes of his mistakes.
John POV
Part 1
The first time I saw Chloe, she was a vision of vulnerability. It was a rainy night, and she was huddled outside the office building, feeding a stray cat. She reminded me of Amelia, always with a soft spot for lost creatures. I walked over, holding my umbrella over her head.
“Rough day?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
That’s when I noticed the tears streaming down her face.
She told me about her struggles, how she was a bright girl from a poor family, how she’d worked hard to get into a good college, only to face prejudice and harassment. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, seeing echoes of Amelia’s own struggles in her story.
Maybe I was projecting, looking for ways to make up for my own shortcomings as a husband. Amelia had her own dreams, her own ambitions, but she'd put them on hold for me, for us.
I gave Chloe a promotion, hoping to offer her a safe haven from the cutthroat corporate world.
Over time, I found myself drawn to her. She was young, ambitious, and eager to please. We clicked on an intellectual level, something I craved but hadn't realized was missing in my life. I told Amelia all about her, thinking they could even be friends.
But then Amelia started questioning me, her eyes filled with a suspicion I hadn’t seen before. I was hurt, even a little offended. Didn’t she trust me? Didn’t she know I loved her?
When the rumors about me and Chloe reached Amelia, I saw the hurt in her eyes, and it killed me. I reassured her, told her it was all lies, but the seed of doubt had been planted.
Looking back, I realize I should have distanced myself from Chloe then. But I didn't. I let my guilt and fascination cloud my judgment.
Part 2
The lines started to blur. The long nights at the office, fueled by whiskey and ambition, became my escape. Chloe was always there, a willing listener, a source of comfort and validation I didn't realize I was seeking.
One morning, I woke up in her bed, my head pounding, my stomach churning with a mix of pleasure and shame. I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over Amelia’s name. I had to tell her, to apologize.
Chloe’s arms wrapped around me, her voice a husky whisper in my ear.
“Don’t tell her, John. It was just a mistake. She doesn’t need to know.”
“But it’s wrong,” I mumbled, my voice thick with guilt.
“No one has to know,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “It can be our little secret. Just like your drinking.”
Her words struck a chord. Amelia hated it when I drank, and I'd gotten good at hiding it from her. Was this really so different?
I convinced myself it was harmless, a way to compartmentalize my guilt. But deep down, I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing.
When Amelia confronted me that night, her voice trembling with suspicion, I panicked. The guilt, amplified by alcohol and exhaustion, sent me into a blind rage. I shoved her away, not realizing the extent of my actions until I saw the blood.
The sight of her, hurt and bleeding because of me, brought me crashing back to reality.
What had I done?
Amelia insisted on looking into Chloe, and against my better judgment, I agreed. I watched in horror as she laid out the evidence of Chloe’s past, my stomach twisting with each new revelation.
Relief washed over me when I realized there were no photos of me, no proof of my infidelity. I had kept my secret safe.
Or so I thought.
Part 3
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any messier, Chloe dropped the bomb: she was pregnant.
I was terrified. I wanted to be a father, but not like this. I offered Chloe money, a one-way ticket to Paris, anything to make her disappear. But she refused.
She claimed she wanted nothing more than to give our child a family.
I was trapped.
I couldn't bring myself to tell Amelia the truth, so I did what I did best: I lied. I made excuses, avoided her, and clung to Chloe's promises of a fresh start.
Our anniversary dinner was a disaster. I’d planned to tell Amelia everything, to beg for her forgiveness. But Chloe threw a wrench in my plans, faking a fall and accusing me of not caring about her or the baby. I was torn between my guilt and my fear of losing the only family I thought I had left.
I signed the divorce papers with a heavy heart, unable to meet Amelia’s eyes. I told myself I was doing it for the best, that she deserved better than a man who couldn’t even give her a child.
Part 4
The irony, of course, was that I couldn’t give her a child because I was the infertile one. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. All those years of blaming Amelia, all those wasted tears and accusations, and it was me all along.
Chloe’s true colors came out after the divorce. She was manipulative, demanding, and completely indifferent to the turmoil she'd caused. My mother, initially ecstatic about becoming a grandmother, saw through Chloe’s facade.
The truth about the baby came out shortly after. It wasn’t mine.
I watched in stunned silence as Chloe’s lies crumbled around her. The woman I’d left my wife for, the child I’d believed was mine – it was all a lie.
I was a fool.
I spent the next few months lost in a haze of regret and self-loathing. I drank myself into oblivion, hoping to numb the pain. I showed up at Amelia’s doorstep, desperate for another chance, but she wouldn’t let me in. She was right. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.
The news of Chloe’s real baby daddy spread like wildfire. She disappeared from our lives as quickly as she’d entered, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
I poured myself into work, trying to rebuild what I’d lost. But the guilt and regret followed me everywhere. I’d made a terrible mistake, and I had to live with the consequences.
One day, I heard Amelia was moving. I went to her apartment, hoping for a chance to apologize, to tell her how sorry I was.
But it was too late.
She was already gone, moving on with her life, leaving me behind with the bitter taste of regret.
I had lost her forever.
