CHEATING BASTARD

ELAINE

I walked toward the parking lot, my car sitting in the same spot it always did.

The old sedan looked like it had been dragged through hell and back—a few dents here, a scratched bumper there, and the occasional puff of smoke from the exhaust.

But it was mine, and as much as I hated it, I needed it.

I climbed in, gripping the worn leather of the steering wheel, and forced myself to start the engine. The familiar sputter and groan made my stomach twist.

I prayed it wouldn’t give out on me—again.

The drive home wasn’t long, but it always felt that way. My shift at the nursing home had ended earlier than expected, and while most people would have been excited about the extra time off, I wasn’t.

I wasn’t looking forward to going home.

My mind wandered to what I’d find when I got there—Devin, my lazy husband, sprawled out on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something cheap at his side, maybe even a second one rolling under the coffee table.

Heck, I was sure he was probably still wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in this morning when I left for my twelve-hour shift.

God knows he never had anywhere to go.

That couch had become his throne, the house, his kingdom. And I was the servant, working myself to the bone to keep the roof over our heads, the lights on, and food in the fridge—all while he sat there, sucking the life out of me one day at a time.

My chest tightened as I thought about how I’d been living for the past few years. It was always the same cycle—wake up before the sun, work myself to exhaustion at the nursing home, and come home to a man who contributed nothing.

Rent was always late. Bills piled up faster than I could pay them. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought something for myself, let alone something nice.

The worst part was the guilt.

Devin always had a way of making me feel like it was my fault. Like I wasn’t doing enough. Like if I worked just a little harder, we’d be fine.

But no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough to get ahead—just enough to survive.

Hand to mouth. That was my life. A life I’d wanted to get out of for so long but hadn’t been able to.

The nursing home didn’t pay much, and the long hours left me drained—physically, emotionally, mentally. There were days I thought about quitting, about finding something better, but where would I go? What could I do?

My resume was a joke, and the thought of starting over felt overwhelming.

I sighed, gripping the wheel tighter as my car rattled over a pothole. I’d been stuck in this life for so long, I wasn’t sure how to even begin clawing my way out.

All I knew was that I couldn’t keep living like this—scraping by, giving everything I had, only to feel empty at the end of the day.

Something had to change. I just didn’t know how to make it happen.

The porch light was on when I pulled up. It wasn’t for me; Devin was too lazy to turn it off during the day. I let out a breath, climbed out of the car, and trudged up the steps, my shoes scuffing against the wood.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping into the living room. It was dark, but I didn’t need the lights on to see that Devin wasn’t there.

Huh. That’s shocking.

The couch, for once, was empty. No Devin, no beer bottles tipped over, no dirty socks littering the floor. I frowned, my stomach twisting.

It wasn't a relief I felt—something was off.

I walked further into the house and froze.

Clothes.

Everywhere.

Jeans, a shirt that definitely wasn’t Devin’s, and a bra—a lacy, hot pink thing I wouldn’t be caught dead in—were scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs leading to some horrible conclusion.

My heart dropped.

Fuck no.

I followed the trail up the stairs, my breaths coming sharp and uneven. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to see it.

But I had to.

My hand shook as I reached for the bedroom door handle. I pushed it open and—

“Oh my god.”

There, on my bed, Devin had some brunette bimbo pinned in front of him, her face buried in the mattress as he slammed into her from behind like a wild animal.

They didn’t notice me at first. Devin’s hands gripped her hair so hard his knuckles were white, and the sounds—god, the sounds—made my stomach churn.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

My voice cracked through the air.

“Are you KIDDING me?!”

Devin froze mid-thrust.

The girl—whoever she was—let out a startled squeak and scrambled for the sheets to cover herself. Devin turned his head to look at me, his expression blank, as if I’d just walked in on him napping instead of screwing some random woman in my bed.

Our bed!

“Elaine?” he muttered, as if he had the right to sound confused.

It was his audacity for me.

“You piece of shit,” I said, my voice low, shaking with fury. “You absolute piece of shit.”

It was like every ounce of energy drained out of me, leaving behind only pure, ice-cold rage.

The motherfucker didn’t even flinch. Didn’t scramble to cover himself. Didn’t even look ashamed. He just stood there, completely bare-assed, staring at me like I was the one who’d walked into his house uninvited.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Devin muttered, his voice lazy and flat.

“Not what it looks like?!” My voice rose an octave, vibrating off the walls. “Oh, so you’re not railing some random bimbo in my bed? Is that it, Devin?”

The brunette—who’d been trying to shrink into the mattress—let out a tiny squeak. That sound sent me over the edge.

I bent down, yanked off one of my shoes, and hurled it across the room. It hit Devin square in the chest with a thud.

“Elaine!” Devin barked, stumbling back a step.

I didn’t care.

I was already pulling off the second shoe. This one went flying toward the girl, missing her by a foot, but it was enough to send her scrambling off the bed.

“Get. Out,” I snapped, my voice dripping venom.

The girl—who looked all of twenty, with stick-straight brunette hair and wide, deer-in-headlights eyes—fumbled for the sheets as she tried to cover herself, staring at me like I might murder her.

And I would if she doesn’t get out this minute!

She lunged for her clothes, scooping them up with all the grace of a newborn deer. I spotted her hot pink bra lying by my feet and grabbed it.

“Here,” I snarled, chucking it at her. The lacy thing smacked her shoulder before falling to the floor.

She made a noise as she bolted from the room, clutching her clothes to her chest like they were a shield.

I turned back to Devin, who was now tugging on a pair of boxer shorts like the whole thing was inconvenient for him.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

“I lost my mind?!” I shouted, my chest heaving. “You’re the one fucking a stranger in my bed while I’m out busting my ass to pay the bills! I lost my mind?”

“Elaine, calm down. You’re overreacting.”

I froze. The words sank into my brain like a knife, slicing through the last shred of patience I had left.

Overreacting?

“Overreacting?” I repeated, my voice deadly quiet. “Devin, I work twelve-hour shifts at that damn nursing home. I come home exhausted every single day—while you remain sprawled on the couch, drunk like a fool! I’ve been breaking my back to put clothes on your body and a roof over your head while you sit on your ass all day. And this is how you repay me?”

“It was just a one-time thing, alright?” Devin scoffed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Jesus. You’re acting like I killed someone.”

I stared at him, my chest tight.

A one time thing.

I swallowed hard, something inside me snapping into place. I have had enough.