Falling for my high school crush

BRITTNEY

It had been three years since I married Tony Moore. Three years of wearing the title “wife” like a badge of honor, though it bought me nothing but heartaches. I was little more than a ghost in his life, a maid in his house, and yet my love for him stubbornly lingered.

Life had been unfair, cruel even, reducing my heart’s deepest desire to a quiet ache.

I cried myself to sleep most nights, clutching the hope that maybe— just maybe—he would look at me the same way I had always looked at him. With love. With desire.

But the only warmth Tony ever gave me was the occasional, half-hearted “thanks” for the meals I prepared or rooms I cleaned. Our marriage wasn’t built on love—it was built on circumstance.

Three years ago, Tony was at the center of a scandal that threatened to destroy his company. He needed a wife to salvage his image, someone responsible and devoted.

And I, hopelessly in love with him, volunteered without hesitation. I had believed, foolishly, that this arrangement might grow into something real.

But three years later, I was still waiting for that day to come.

Tonight was our anniversary, and I had gone all out, preparing everything to perfection. The dining table groaned under the weight of dishes I knew Tony liked. Each recipe was a labor of love; the perfect seared steak, roasted vegetables glistening with butter, and a cake I had baked myself.

The bedroom was even more romantic. Rose petals formed a heart on the bedspread, the glow of candles casting golden light on the walls. I had dressed for him—lace lingerie that hugged my body, accentuating every curve I knew he used to appreciate in fleeting moments.

I wanted him, my whole body ached for him.

In the dim light, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My lips were painted a soft red, and my skin glowed with the anticipation of touch.

My thoughts betrayed me, spiraling into fantasies of Tony’s hand exploring my body, his lips trailing over my skin. I imagined the sound of my own voice, whispering his name, begging for more.

Heat pooled between my thighs as my cheeks flushed, and my nipples hardened beneath the lace.

But where was he?

The clock ticked on. 10:00. 11:00. And My excitement faded into disappointment. By the time midnight loomed, I became worried, he hadn’t called or texted. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring but the screen remained dark.

Then a notification pinged. My heart leapt, but when I checked the sender, it wasn’t Tony.

The message came from an unknown number.

It was a photo.

My hands shook as I opened it. The image hit me like a slap to my face

Tony lay sprawled on a bed, half-naked, a blonde woman curled against him, her lips brushing his cheek. Her face was turned down, her hair cascading over his chest like a golden veil. He was asleep, oblivious, while she marked him as hers.

Below the photo was a single message. “Keep waiting for your man while I fuck him. Happy anniversary sweetheart.”

“No,” I whispered. My voice cracking. My hands flew to my mouth as nausea churned in my stomach. This couldn’t be real, but it was.

The timestamp on the photo matched the time it was sent. My chest tightened as anger surged, followed swiftly by grief. My hands shook as I clutched the phone, tears blurring my vision.

I had loved Tony for so long, sacrificing everything for him, believing—naively—that one day he’d love me back.

But staring at the photo, all hope shattered.

How long had this been going on? Was this the first time? Or one of many? I thought back to all the nights he hadn’t come home. The vague excuses and harsh tones when I asked where he’d been. My heart twisted painful as I realized I’ve been used.

I glanced at the table I’d lovingly prepared. The candles burned low, the food untouched, my appetite was gone, but the bed still called to me.

Not for romance, but for something else. Something I hadn’t felt in so long, release.

I stripped away the lingerie I’d so carefully chosen, climed unto the bed, and let my hands roam over my body. My fingers sought the pleasure Tony had denied me for years.

Tears streaming down my face even as I came, shuddering ageist the sheets. When it was over, emptiness filled the space desire had been.

This was it. I was done.

I picked up the phone and typed the words I never imagined I’d send: “I need a divorce.”

Within minutes, Tony’s name lit up my screen. He called again and again, but I let the phone buzz. My decision was made, I cried myself to sleep, clinging to the faint hope that I’d wake up and this nightmare would be over.

~.~.

Morning came too quickly. Sunlight seeped through the curtains, highlighting my swollen puffy eyes. My phone was heavy in my hand, Tony’s missed calls glaring back at me.

The door bust open startling me. Tiny was in the doorway, his suit immaculate, his hair perfectly styled. He looked every bit of the man I’d fallen for, and I hated him for it.

“What was that text about?” He demanded, his tone sharp. “Do you even understand what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I want a divorce.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you want your life to go back to square one? Think about what you’re asking for.”

“I don’t care!” I snapped. “I saw you, Tony. I saw you with her. Did you even remember it was our anniversary yesterday?”

His expression flickered—guilt, perhaps—but it was gone in an instant.

“Let’s discuss this later,” he said, brushing off my words. “Get dressed, we have a family dinner to attend.”

“I’m not going,” I muttered my resolve hardening.

“You have no choice,” he said coldly. “Fix yourself up. Your hair’s a mess, and your eyes…. You look terrible.”

He gave me a scornful look as he exited the room, leaving me seething in silence.