He Betrayed Me in a Language I Knew

I swallowed the meatball coated in chili oil and forced myself to smile at my boyfriend, Henry Hayes.

Looking pleased, Henry ruffled my hair. "Have as much as you like. Despite where you're from, you do enjoy spicy food a lot."

Across the table, my best friend, Rachel Quinton, was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Switching to the Southern dialect, she said, "Your girlfriend is so easy to fool, Henry. She's not even mad that we're leaving her out of the game."

"She's always been slow. She believes everything people tell her. She's no fun at all," Henry answered in the same dialect.

Under the table, Rachel stretched out her foot and slowly rubbed it along his calf. "That's not what you said about me last night."

Henry swallowed nervously. "You're practically a siren. You nearly squeezed me dry."

The entire table let out a knowing laugh. When someone chuckled and reminded Henry that I was still sitting right there, he simply wiped his mouth nonchalantly.

"So, what? It's not like she can understand us," he said coolly.

Turning toward me, he said with a tender expression, "They're talking about this joke from our hometown, Carol. It has something to do with a siren."

I swallowed my discomfort and nodded. "Really? It must be pretty funny."

As I stared at his gentle features, I suddenly remembered how he acted while he was pursuing me two years ago. He was born and raised in the South, yet he practiced speaking in a Northern accent every day just for me.

Back then, he held me tightly and said, "Carol, you'll never feel like an outsider when you're with me. From now on, I'll only speak in a language that you can understand."

When he said that, I felt incredibly touched. To protect his pathetic pride, I kept my ability to understand the Southern dialect a secret. But now, that same dialect had become an encrypted language he was using to communicate with his mistress right in front of me.

Rachel glanced at me before switching back to the standard local language. Feigning concern, she asked, "Why do you look so pale, Carol? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine," I replied. "I'm just feeling a bit hot. I'm going to the bathroom."

The moment I shut the door behind me, I could no longer hold it in. I bent over the toilet and retched violently.

When I looked up at my disheveled reflection in the mirror, something on the shelf beside the sink caught my eye.

Half-hidden behind my makeup remover was a square-shaped wrapper that had been torn open.

It was the brand Henry often used. When I pulled the wrapper out, I even caught a whiff of the perfume Rachel was wearing today.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath before dropping the wrapper into the toilet and flushing it away. Then, I took out my phone and cancelled the flight Henry and I had booked for our trip to Sunshore Island next week. Afterward, I messaged someone I hadn't contacted in a long time.

"I'm coming home, Caleb. Can you make the necessary arrangements for my return to Harborcrest City?" read my text message to my brother, Caleb Scott.

After touching up my lipstick, I opened the door and exited the bathroom.

The atmosphere in the living room was still lively as ever.

Rachel raised her glass. "Here's to Henry. May all your years be better than your last!"

Henry downed his drink in one go. When I returned to my seat, he casually slipped an arm around my waist.

"Why were you gone for so long? I missed you."

If this had happened in the past, I would've been touched by his words. But now, he reeked of greasy food and perfume, and it only made me feel sick.

"It's nothing. I was just touching up my makeup," I said as I gently slipped out of his hold.

Rachel flashed me a taunting smile. "Carol's so obsessed with her appearance. We're only having dinner at home, but she still made an effort to touch up her makeup."

Then, she switched back to the Southern dialect and told Henry, "I'm not going home tonight. Come look for me in the guest room once she falls asleep."

As Henry squeezed my thigh under the table, he replied in the same dialect, "Sure. I'll show you what I can do tonight."

I looked down. Our two-year relationship was just like the cold pot of leftover stew sitting on the table. It looked rich and inviting on the surface, but it was filled with nothing but nauseating scraps.

By the time the gathering finally ended, it was incredibly late.

"I don't want to go home alone at this hour. You don't mind if I spend the night at your place, right?" Rachel asked, tugging on my hand with an innocent expression.

I gently pulled my hand away from her and flashed her a small smile. "Of course. I just changed the bedsheets in the guest room."

She clearly hadn't expected me to agree so easily. Henry, on the other hand, quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"Carol's so understanding," he said.

He instinctively leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head away.

"I'm going to go clean up the dishes."

Amid the steady rush of water from the kitchen, I heard the faint sound of a door closing outside, followed by Henry's lowered voice.

"Go take a shower. I'll head over in a bit."