The days blended into a monotonous routine, and the once-familiar spaces of our home felt increasingly foreign. Sebastian's prolonged absences, coupled with the weight of unspoken tension,
cast a pall over our relationship. The air seemed to thicken with each passing moment, mirroring the strained silence that permeated our shared spaces.
As Sebastian's workplace encroached further into our lives, the intrusion of his female colleagues became a persistent presence. He often brought them home to discuss work matters,
their voices weaving a web of professional camaraderie that left me on the fringes of his world. While I understood the necessity of their collaboration, the green tendrils of jealousy unfurled within me, threatening to consume reason.
One evening, the tension reached its zenith. The air crackled with unspoken words as Sebastian's colleagues gathered in our living room. I feigned indifference
, the mask of a composed wife concealing the storm brewing within. But as the laughter echoed through the walls, so did the whispers of doubt that gnawed at my composure.
Unable to contain the surge of jealousy, I found myself on the precipice of a regrettable action. In a moment of irrational anger, I raised my hand, ready to strike one of the girls. The room fell silent, a collective gasp escaping the lips of those present.
Suddenly, Sebastian emerged from the shadows, his eyes ablaze with fury. He caught my hand mid-air, his grip firm and unyielding.
"What are you doing?"
he bellowed, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere. The weight of his words, laden with insult and disdain, crushed the remnants of my self-control.
He spared no mercy, launching into a tirade of cutting remarks that left me reeling. "Know your place," he spat, each word like a venomous arrow.
"If this happens again, the consequences won't be limited to a slap on the wrist. Understand?
The room fell back into an uneasy silence as Sebastian retreated, leaving me to grapple with the harsh reality of his rebuke.
Unable to bear the weight of unspoken questions, I ventured into Sebastian's study. The air hung heavy with tension
as my eyes scanned the room for any sign of a lingering presence. The polished surfaces reflected the sterile glow of artificial light, devoid of any traces of the life that transpired within these walls.
A subtle noise drew my attention to the desk, where a discarded note lay half-hidden beneath scattered papers.
As I unfolded it, the words etched in neat handwriting fueled the embers of jealousy within. The note, a casual reminder of a lunch meeting, bore a name that sent a chill down my spine.
The realization struck like a venomous arrow. He was sharing meals, moments, and perhaps more, with these women who infiltrated our once-private domain. The walls of our home echoed with their laughter, mocking the sanctity we once cherished.
Driven by a maelstrom of emotions, I confronted Sebastian later that evening. The facade of composure crumbled
, giving way to the raw vulnerability of my wounded heart.
"Sebastian, am I not enough? Why do you bring them here? What more do they offer that I can't?"
His response, a cold indifference, pierced through me like a dagger.
"This is my life, Kassie. I don't owe you explanations. If you can't handle it, that's your problem