He Chose His Mistress, I Chose My Throne

Every morning, I wonder what my mother-in-law would criticize first… my cooking, or my failure to give her a grandchild.

I set the last plate of breakfast on the table and wiped my damp hands on my apron. I hadn't slept much the night before, and my body felt it now, heavy and slow. I sank into the dining chair and rested my head on my arms, my palm drifting to my stomach. If only I could give Adrian a child. Maybe then the insults would stop. Maybe then I'd finally be enough.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I heard was Mrs Black's hand slamming against the table.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I jolted upright. "Good morning, mum—"

"Mum?" She cut me off before I could finish. "A mother knows her own child, and I only gave birth to Adrian. I don't recall having a daughter."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I still didn't know what I was supposed to call her.

"Why were you slumped over my table like something half dead?"

"I'm sorry, mum — I mean, mother-in-law." The word slipped out before I could stop it. "I was tired, so I fell asleep."

Mrs Black looked at me the way someone looks at something they've stepped in. "Tired? Did you spend the night rocking a baby to sleep? Did you stay up because it was crying?" She let out a short, cold laugh. "No. I forgot — you're just decoration. A hen that can't lay eggs. Anyone walking in would think you'd cooked a feast, not knowing this is all you managed."

The words landed somewhere deep in my chest, but my voice wouldn't come. I forced myself to speak anyway. "Please, have a seat, mother-in-law."

"Mother-in-law?" she snapped. "I told you not to call me that."

"I'm sorry, mum—" I stopped myself too late. "Mrs Black. I'm sorry, Mrs Black."

"At my age, I should have three or four grandchildren by now. Instead I have none. Because of you." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to end our bloodline? I only hope Adrian knows what he's doing."

The sentence hit harder than the rest, though I couldn't say why. Something about the way she said it — like she knew something I didn't. I pushed the thought away before it could take root.

She picked up her spoon, dipped it into one of the dishes, and let it clatter back onto the plate. The plate cracked. Food scattered across the floor.

"What is this?" she demanded. "You call this food?"

That was when Adrian came down the stairs. He didn't ask what was happening — he never did. He looked past me the way he always did when his mother's voice rose, and I told myself it was fine. He loved me. He just didn't want to make things worse by taking sides.

He walked toward us, and for one hopeful second I thought, *maybe today he'll say something.* Then he spoke.

"I won't be having breakfast. I'm off to work."

He kissed my cheek on his way out, and I held onto that instead. As long as he loved me, everything else could wait. I just needed to win his mother's heart.

I knelt to gather the broken plate and felt a sharp sting before I saw the blood welling from my finger. I closed my fist around it quickly, hiding it from view. If Mrs Black saw, it would only be one more thing to blame me for.

By the time she finished picking apart the meal she'd called inedible, she'd eaten two full plates of it.

---

That evening, I called Adrian. A woman answered.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Can you put Adrian on the phone?"

"He's busy right now." A pause. "Who should I say called?"

"Wait." My stomach tightened. "Isn't my number saved on his phone?"

"No. It's not saved."

I told myself there had to be an explanation — maybe his phone just wasn't showing the caller ID properly. "I'm Adrian's—"

Before I could finish, I heard it. A voice, low and familiar, somewhere behind her. *"Babe, it's your turn — I'm done showering."*

The phone slipped from my hand before I even realized I'd dropped it. My whole body went cold, though the house wasn't cold at all. *That wasn't Adrian,* I told myself. *It couldn't have been.*

But the questions came anyway, one after another, refusing to be quiet.

*Why is his phone with her?*

*Was that his voice?*

*Is he cheating on me?*

I answered them the only way I could bear to. *No. Adrian is loyal. He loves me.*

I sat with that thought clenched in both hands, but it didn't stop the room from spinning. I decided I would ask him myself. Whatever he told me, I would believe. A voice on a phone wasn't enough to break the trust I'd built with him.

So I waited. I watched the clock crawl from eight to ten to eleven. Adrian didn't walk through the door until 12:52 in the morning.

I met him in the hallway. "I called you earlier. A woman picked up. Who was she?"

"My secretary." He said it without missing a beat. "Why, is there a problem?"

The tightness in my chest eased — just a secretary, that was all. Then I remembered the voice. "Then why was she with your phone?"

He looked at me and almost smiled. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Fine." He sighed, like the question itself was tiresome. "I was in a meeting, so I left my phone with her. Later she told me she'd gone to see her boyfriend before he left for a trip."

"Oh." I nodded slowly, the explanation settling over me like a blanket I wanted to believe was warm enough. "Your food's still on the table. I'll heat it up — I didn't know you'd be working this late."

"I was. I'm exhausted. I just want to rest."

"Of course."

He brushed past me toward the stairs, and that was when I caught it — faint, but unmistakable. A perfume clinging to his collar.

It wasn't the one he always wore.