My Teacher My Husband

CARRIE

“What the hell, Shane!” I wailed as two figures caught my eye in the dark at the back of the house. I moved nearer and there in the shadows they were.

Shane, my husband and Cathy, his ex-girlfriend and now mistress.

They were standing too close. Her hand rested on his chest. Her body angled toward him in that flirty, smug way that made my stomach churn. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to. Her touch said enough. And Shane… he didn’t look like he was trying to stop her.

My breath caught.

“Cli…Clinton…I will call you back.” I rasped into the phone to one of my assistants that I was talking to on the phone.

No. No, he wouldn’t. Knowing that I was just a few feet away. I walked closer to where they were standing.

Then Shane saw me. He straightened, stepped back a bit.

Cathy didn’t move an inch.

She turned her head slowly toward me, smiling condescendingly; a smug, silken smile that screamed ‘he’s still mine; you’re just a placeholder.’

My fists clenched at my sides.

“Shane,” I said, my voice cutting through the night like a blade. “I think we should leave.”

Cathy chuckled: quiet and mocking.

She tilted her face up to him again, then looked back at me, her eyes dancing with challenge.

“Go back inside, Carrie. Shane turned toward me. His voice was low, dismissive. “We’re leaving when I’m ready.”

It hit me like a slap.

“Are you serious right now?” I snarled, unable to mask the betrayal burning in my chest.

“Carrie,” he said firmly. “Just go inside. Don’t try to cause a scene.”

Cathy smiled again, wrapping her arms around him like she owned him.

I couldn’t breathe. I could get another word past my throat again. How could Shane humiliate me like this? I thought bitterly to myself.

My face burned with shame and rage. Without another word, I spun around and walked back into the house. My vision blurred slightly, but I refused to cry, at least not there. Not in front of them and everyone.

We were at the private birthday dinner of one of his childhood friends; Liam Hampton.

I was very happy when we got there and I realized it was a very intimate dinner. Everything had gone well from the time we arrived until after dinner.

Following dinner, a natural segregation occurred, with women congregating at one end of the room and men at the other.

Then Cathy; Shane's ex-girlfriend, now mistress, made her arrival.

Given that she and Liam were childhood friends too, it makes sense for her to be there. But I felt uneasy seeing her. That was the first time we will be in close proximity.

My smile froze instantly.

She greeted the other ladies. Then her eyes locked onto mine for a split second. Her glare was cold and mocking.

I blinked and gave a polite smile to no one in particular before excusing myself. My steps were calm, but my jaw was tight.

It was then my phone started ringing in my clutch bag.

“You will have to excuse me,” I said with a smile looking from my phone screen to Ava’s face. “It's work; one of my assistants.”

Ava nodded with understanding with her own smile and I had to go out. That was why I found them.

I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray and slipped into a corner.

‘How could he disrespect me like this?’ I muttered under my breath as I took a long sip of the drink and swallowed hard.

I never imagined this was what marriage to Shane Blackwood would turn out to be when I let his late mother, Eleanor, talk me into it, I knew it wasn’t going to be a fairy tale. Our marriage at the least was strategic. Businesslike. But even in that, I had expected some respect. Some appreciation for playing my part so well in this contract marriage.

Everyone, including his friends kept telling him he was lucky to have me in his life. But he never thinks of me like that. Shane thinks little of me and my efforts. He never acted like I was even doing anything worthwhile for the company, I just… existed beside him. That was all.

Shane Blackwood had never once treated me like a wife in the seven months that we've been married.

******

Shane stormed upstairs immediately after we got home.

I stood there,helpless, watching him go.

Finally, I dragged myself upstairs too.

In my room, I yanked off my dress and stepped into the shower. The moment the warm water hit me, the tears came; hot, relentless, unforgiving. I cried from a place deep inside me, where rage and humiliation lived.

I scrubbed my skin as if I could wash off Cathy’s smugness. Wash away Shane’s coldness.

Then I heard it.

The roar of Shane’s car engine downstairs.

I moved to the window and watched as his headlights disappeared down the long driveway.

“He’s going to Cathy,” I said aloud. “He's going back into her arms.”

And just like that, another wave of tears hit me. This one was heavier. More despairing.

*********

I was still turning and tossing hours after I slipped under the covers. The digital clock on my nightstand became my tormentor, its red numbers marking each agonizing hour: 12:47 AM, 1:23 AM, 2:58 AM. I replayed the evening over and over, dissecting every detail; Cathy's confident smile, the way Shane's thumb had traced circles on her back, how she had gave me a condescending look and how Shane had made it clear that we were not leaving until he was ready thereby letting me know that Cathy was more important to him.

When exhaustion finally claimed me around four in the morning, my sleep was fitful and plagued by fragmented dreams of me, Cathy and Eleanor. The alarm's shrill call at 6:30 AM felt like a punishment, dragging me from the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness back into my new reality.

For a moment, I considered calling in sick to the office, claiming a migraine that wouldn't be entirely untrue. The thought of facing another day, of pretending everything was normal, seemed insurmountable.

But then I remembered the NovaTel communication presentation; three months of preparation for the biggest client pitch of my career. My team and I had worked too hard to come up with an excellent marketing strategy for the company to let Shane's betrayal derail my career too.

One of the things Eleanor, Shane’s late mother insisted upon my marriage was that Shane should make me one of the executive directors. With my promotion, I became executive director, special duties. I have closed high end deals and won mouthwatering multi million dollars over the last six months for Blackwood Marketing Incorporated.

With mechanical precision, I forced myself out of bed.

A few hours later, I stood confidently at the front of the executive members and the representatives of NovaTel, the massive screen behind me displaying the last slide of my pitch.

I looked around the faces of the men and women sitting around the oblong, glossy table. All eyes were fixed on me, gleaming with admiration, except that of Shane Blackwood, my husband, the CEO and president of Blackwood Marketing Incorporated.