Love Died Before I Did

Christian came straight to bed and tried to kiss me right after coming back from making out with Jasmine Wood. As he unbuttoned my shirt, my stomach began to churn, and my body moved before my mind could. I slapped him.

"Thought the girl was enough. Are you here for seconds?"

Fury burned in Christian's eyes. He grabbed my calf and yanked me off the bed. My knees crashed into the ground, and I yelped. "And you're saying no? You're hitting 30, you old hag. Do you really think I still desire you?"

The full-length mirror reflected a pale face. It was me.

Minute lines crinkled the corners of my eyes, while my hair was dry and lusterless. I was a rose that was abandoned and left to wilt.

Then my mind painted a picture of Jasmine. Her fair, lovely face, and her bright, shining eyes. Morning sickness hit me hard when we first met, and she handed me a silky-smooth towel to help ease me up.

I was going to say thank you, but the sharp stench that hit my nose made me retch violently.

"I'm really sorry! We just finished up, and I didn't get to wash it in time. Christian and I went at it for twelve hours last night. He didn't want to hurt you."

There were small crimson patches dotting the towel along with half-dried stains.

Though Jasmine's eyes shone brightly, her face had arrogance and victory written all over it. "Men love tighter women. Christian's loosened you up, Natasha. I don't blame you, though. You've had years together."

I was about to throw up again. Tears blurred my sight, but I looked at Christian. "You went for youth because you hate my age, don't you?"

My reaction stirred nothing in Chrsitian. He grabbed my chin and pulled my head up, then he dropped a kiss on my icy cold cheek.

"Every successful man has a lovely lady to keep up appearances. You're unreasonable, Nat. Men have a conscience too. At the end of the day, the girls who toughed it out with us are the only ones that mean something."

Another wave of nausea hit me again. I grabbed my pillow and hurled it as hard as I could. "Get out!" I screamed, sounding hysteric. "I don't want to see you again!"

When I raised my head, Christian was nowhere to be seen.

He was a different man now. The old him would've given me a hug and tried to calm me down whenever I had an episode, promising me that he would stop seeing his lover.

Time had quietly reshaped me into someone unrecognizable in Christian's eyes. Even the shallowest reassurances disappeared. To him, simply coming home was already an act worthy of praise—something I should be grateful for.

Across from our building, on the fortieth floor, I could see silhouettes moving behind glass—two bodies entwined, lost in each other.

I, on the other hand, was stepping on a floor covered in shattered glass. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, but the pain never reached me.

Destiny had already shown me the future long ago.

After his first affair, sleep abandoned me. Night after night, I lay awake until exhaustion hollowed me out. The years caught up quickly—etching fine lines at the corners of my eyes, draining the softness from my face.

At social events, people would comment with polite cruelty—how mature I looked compared to others my age. Christian would only smile awkwardly and say he preferred women who seemed older than they were.

"They make good caregivers," he would add.

But eventually, he stopped bringing me to his events. I was replaced with a young and lovely woman.

I started taking medications for my insomnia, and the side effects built up in my body over time. My sense of pain was taken away in the end.

I chuckled at myself, and my hand slid up my chest. The pain in my body was gone… but not this. This ache—deep and constant—remained untouched. Untouchable. And part of me almost wished it would disappear too.

This argument was not isolated. For four years I had to face countless fights, though all ended the same. Christian stopped trying to cheer me up.

My pain stopped coming, and all I could do was face the affairs numbly.

One thought came to me. If I kept myself stuck in his entanglement, perhaps someday I would end up accepting his affairs as long as he would give me a moment of his time.

That would be no different from the rich wives in the elite circle, but I couldn't understand. How did it end up in misery? We used to be deeply, madly in love.

I met Christian at the lowest point of his life. His father, crushed by debt, had taken his own life. His mother was lost to depression. At nineteen, he carried everything alone.

Eight years I stood by him, until he crawled back out of the abyss. When success began to smile on him, youth said goodbye to me.

The younger Christian once rested his head on my shoulders and gave me the biggest grin I'd ever seen. "Thank you for everything," he said once. "I'll treat you like a queen. I promise."

Back then, my face flushed so easily at his words. I believed him.

One year into our marriage, he had his first affair.

And that marked the beginning of his multiple affairs, all of which were consecutive.