I could feel it. The former raging fire of love now sizzled and crackled as the flames burned out, leaving behind its embers which were continuously doused with my tears.
I watched the screen, seeing her humping on the bed, having a blast, my wife making babies, and I sat in another room watching her.
Where did it go wrong?
Didn't I love her enough?
Weren't we happy?
I asked myself as I watched the live stream from the spy camera I put on her dress, a dress I bought, a dress which was unzipped and fling on top a dresser in a hotel by a man I once thought my friend.
She shrieked again, a shriek of pure joy and pleasure, a shriek I haven't heard her make before in my life.
My heart broke, the fire died and then was reborn as a blazing inferno of hate.
I watched on with a new determination.
My eyes hurt at seeing my wife taken, my heart hurt more knowing that she had given herself away yet my mind forced my body to engage the pain, remember it, absorb it and never forget.
After a few hours, they left the suite. I had watched them from the dress on the dresser and heard when they took their activities to different rooms, now they came out looking refreshed, her previously pulled her was freshly brushed and her disturbed lipgloss had been painted.
A new face to wash off previous sins.
They stepped out and barely acknowledged each other, my wife walked briskly leaving the hotel as the man dropped the key for the suite and covered the bill.
I turned off the camera and sat motionless, understanding what I had just witnessed, trying to make sense of it all and hoping to myself that the pain I felt in my heart was all a dream.
Suddenly, the ring on my index finger seemed to suddenly tighten, strangling the hand.
A call came through. My anonymous tipper on the potential activity of my wife and her partner asked if her and my worst suspicions were real.
With a shaky voice I managed to utter the words "Yes".
She kept quiet but I could imagine her slowly nodding her head accepting the truth.
A cry of a baby sounded from her end of the call and my tipper apologized.
Her voice sounded strained as she thanked me for confirming the truth for her.
Curious and pained, I asked her how she was so calm? How was she taking it so well? What did she plan to do?
I couldn't imagine how I'd feel if I was in her position with kids and children.
She stayed silent for a long while, I strained to listen through her child cries but I could hear her sobbing as well.
"This isn't the first. It isn't the second nor the third, the amount of times I've suspected has reached at the very least twenty." She said through her sobs
"Yet this is the first time that I have proof, caught in the act." Her voice suddenly became cold.
"You ask me how I feel so calm. I am not. You ask how I am taking it well. I assure you, I am not.
What I will do.. That I do know. For when we wedded, we made a promise.
Till Death do we Part, well I promise you Mr Turner, Death is one thing I can promise him."
She hung up the phone and left me rattled. I tried calling her back but the line was off.
In a moment she had stolen my rage and made it her own, what fueled this fire was the solemn slow steady flow of revenge.
Header Image source is embedded in it.
My Instagram page.