2

Evelyn's POV

My grip on the box of cookies in front of me tightens as I stand and stare at Leonard and the blonde lady on top of his laps, her legs straddling him like they belong there. 

Her hands are wrapped around his neck, fingers lazily playing with his tie. She leans in close, her lips near his ear, speaking in low tones that I can barely hear.  She's wearing white snickers and black shorts. Her long hair blows about her down to her waist. What she's saying is making Leonard chuckle. 

And it's been so long I saw Leonard laugh genuinely from his heart. I feel the pain cut deep into my chest. This is the same woman, I remember her from her hair and the same Zara bag sitting on the mini table in front of them.

Last I checked, after the last encounter with her, Leonard told me that he asked her to leave and that she was away for good. He told me he didn't have any plans to stay connected with her like he used to. He told me he had set boundaries between them. He told me I was the one he wanted as a wife. He told me she meant nothing to him. I even overheard him telling her that he chose me. He told me… 

But he lied. If not, why is the same lady on top of him, touching and teasing him like they are new lovers?

Because what I'm seeing right before me doesn't look like anything that Leonard said. If anything, it is completely the opposite of everything. I can't blame him. I don't blame him. I blame myself for falling in love with this man. I blame myself for not walking away the minute he asked me to leave if I wanted to.

I should’ve listened to that nagging voice telling me I’d only end up hurting myself. I should have left. But I stayed.

My eyes stings and they start becoming watery but I sniff away the tears. I put effort into doing my makeup. I can't ruin my makeup for her. 

The most annoying part is, I'm not the one making Leonard happy. I'm his wife, I should be the one making him laugh. I can't say which is more painful—that he's with another woman on our anniversary or that another woman is making him happy. Another woman that's not me.

The longer I stand there, the more suffocating the sight becomes. They are so engrossed in their intense conversation that they don't notice that I'm standing in front of them. My grip tightens until the edges of the cookie box bite into my palms. My knuckles ache from the pressure. I stand there for seconds contemplating what to do next. 

I shouldn't have come here.

He even asked for undisturbed moments. I recall their words as a tear finally succeeds in finding its way down my eyes to my cheeks. Sad and bitter, I turn around and walk out of the office. I don't want him noticing that I am in his office. 

I pass by Leonard’s secretary, keeping my gaze down. I can’t afford to let her—or anyone else—see the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. My vision blurs slightly, but I manage to make it to the elevator without falling apart.

When I reach my car, Mikel, my driver, asks me if I'm alright as he holds the car door open for me. I nod my head, holding maximum composure. 

“Are you interested in cookies?” I ask him, forcing out a smile.

“Yes Ma'am. But why?” Mikel replies. 

I stretch out the cookie box to him without a second thought “You can have this then, they are all yours” I say.

He hesitates a little but eventually takes the box from my hand. I can't believe Leonard is cheating on me with her.

“Thank you Ma'am. I'll enjoy it” Mikel says.

“Drive back home,” I instruct Mikel as I climb into the back seat.

“Okay Ma'am” 

But I have a rethink and change my mind as the thought of going back home immediately feels unbearable. “Drive me somewhere—anywhere fancy for a drink. Anywhere at all” 

“Ma'am?” 

“I said drive to somewhere nice, I want to have a drink” I repeat. 

“Yes, ma'am” Mikel replies. 

Mikel doesn't protest or speak again as he turns the car around and starts driving to wherever he's driving to. I don't bother asking, I just allow myself to reminisce on what happened. 

Leonard has never forgotten our anniversary before. He always remembers, even though he doesn't see them as special as I tag them, he never forgets. This is because it’s just who he is—he remembers dates, numbers, insignificant details no one else would.

 He's usually the first to wish me a happy anniversary in the morning before heading to work even if it was through a short casual text. And even though it's always been a repeat of the last in terms of gifting and all that. That has never been my problem. 

And today, Leonard, for the first time since I married him, forgot our anniversary all because of her. It hurts more than I would have expected it to hurt.

The loud instant ring of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. I get my handbag and dig out my phone. 

My heart skips as I stare at the saved caller for seconds as I contemplate whether or not I should pick the call. Seconds later, I take a deep breath before sliding across my phone screen to pick the call.

“Hello,”