On their anniversary, Melinda’s world crumbled. Her husband the man she built a life with was caught cheating with her sister, the very woman who had always envied her and wanted everything she had but the betrayal didn’t stop there. Together, they framed her using fabricated photos, shattering her reputation and dignity in one cruel move. Heartbroken and humiliated, Melinda fled. One reckless night in Vegas led her into the arms of a stranger a man she’d never see again… or so she thought. Six years later, she returns. Not alone. But with twins whose father remains a mystery to everyone but her.
Lihat lebih banyakMelinda’s POV
“Ouch…”
I woke up with a pounding headache, my whole body hurt, like I’d been hit by a truck. I didn’t know where I was or what had happened. I frowned, feeling uneasy, I was too weak.
As dawn crept up, the morning sun shone in. I suddenly opened my eyes, trying to recall of the events that occurred last night.
In the first place, how did I end up here on a hotel bed? Shit, I’m naked! All I could recall from last night was having a girl’s night out with Vanessa. After taking a few sips of the sangria Vanessa had brought to me, I passed out.
Could it be that my drink had been spiked!? I would need to talk to Vanessa and find out what happened!
I gnashed my teeth and walked out of the bed .With every ounce of composure within me; I tried to remain calm as I could.
I quickly put on my clothes from the night before, fixed myself up a little, and hurried out of the hotel room. I had to get home fast.
Today was our 10th wedding anniversary; I couldn’t wait to tell Andrew the good news.
I met Andrew ten years ago at an architectural firm; we were coworkers and then fell in love. Soon, he asked me to marry him, our marriage wasn’t perfect, but we always tried to make it work. I always wanted to have kids, but Andrew wasn’t ready. He thought we needed to focus on building the business first.
Inheriting a fortune from my grandma was a game changer, it would help Andrew and I finally expand our architectural firm from the ground up.
As I drove home, eager to share the good news with Andrew, I was met with his absence. Of course, he was probably at work, it was only 9:15am .
I decided to call him and share the good news, but his phone rang endlessly with no answer. Fine, then. I decided to surprise him at the office instead.
I just remembered I need to pick up our anniversary cake and that bottle of red wine from the confectionary. I decided to wear the white dress Andrew got me last year. He once said it brought out my curves, and maybe he was right. It was a flowing D & G dress, elegant with studded stones along the shoulders a gift from our anniversary two years ago.
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The elevator made a soft sound as it opened. It felt too cheerful for how I was feeling. I held a box of chocolate hazelnut cake in one hand Andrew’s favorite and a bottle of red wine under my arm. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, which was a bit strange, but I thought she had just gone somewhere for a moment.
Quietly, I as I approached the door to Andrew’s office I heard a faint groan. I halted abruptly at the door, I heard a woman’s sharp cry and the voice sounded familiar.
My eyes widened…No! No, Andrew couldn’t do this to me. Instantly I was sick in my stomach.
I couldn’t help myself from looking, the sight greeted me like a physical blow, the door was half way open.
I took a deep breath; I braced myself to keep looking into his office. I grabbed the doorframe with my right hand to keep myself up right.
There in the office was my husband laying on his back over the table and sitting over his nether regions sat my sister, half naked. I watched as Andrew gripped her hips , moving her on him to his liking, which proved to me that this wasn’t the first time they’d be having sex.
He had his head thrown back; I brought my left hand to my mouth hitting myself in the face with my phone still clutched there.
Anguish washed over me as I pushed the door open and then my heart stopped.
It took them a moment to see me. Just long enough for the cake box to slip from my hand and fall to the floor, breaking the silence.
Andrew turned his head. He didn’t look guilty or scared just annoyed. Vanessa smiled as she fixed her clothes, looking proud and happy, like she had just won something.
“I guess happy anniversary is out of the question,” I managed to whisper, voice trembling.
“You should go,” Andrew said coldly, adjusting his shirt like I was the intruder. “This isn’t the time.”
“Not the time?” My hands shook as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m your wife.”
“Not for long,” Vanessa chimed, hopping off the desk. “He was going to tell you today.”
My eyes flicked to her, my own sister. The girl I grew up with. Shared secrets with. Trusted.
I wanted to scream. Cry. Hit something. Instead, I was stunned with disbelief.
“How could you do this to me Nessa?” “Why?”.. I gasped ,stumbling back a step.
Andrew walked over to a drawer and took out some photos. He threw them at my feet like trash.
“You might want to look at those before you start playing the victim.”
I bent down slowly, fingers trembling as I pulled out the photos. Me. Naked. In bed. With a stranger I didn’t even recognize.
“No... this isn’t real.” My voice cracked. “I don’t remember this. I never... I would never”
“You were sloppy,” Vanessa said, feigning pity. “At least own it.”
Everything tilted. My legs gave out and I sank into the nearby chair, dizzy with confusion.
I hadn’t cheated. I knew I hadn’t. I would remember. Wouldn’t I?
But Andrew and Vanessa had already turned away. Like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t worth another second of their time.
I looked at Vanessa as a bad feeling grew in my stomach.
And that’s when it hit me.
This was a setup. As the tears were about to stream down my face.
I stormed out of the office holding the photos tightly, angry and hurt. Betrayal left a strange, bitter taste in my mouth. I wasn’t just hurt. I was played. Humiliated. Set up by the two people I loved most.
I got into my car and drove. No destination in mind. My hands shook on the steering wheel. My hands trembled on the wheel. My phone buzzed a message from my lawyer about our meeting later that day. The one where I was supposed to discuss transferring my inheritance from my grandmother’s estate into our shared account.
I almost laughed.
If I hadn’t walked in on them just now, Andrew would’ve walked away with everything, my money, my name, and maybe even my life.
The realization made me cold all over.
I doubled back; I needed to get my things out of his darn office. I would have to go in through the back this time. I parked and waited by the emergency stairwell entrance. No one noticed me. I wasn’t even meant to be there.
I didn’t mean to hear them but what I heard left me frozen.
But I did.
Their voices floated down the hall low, but unmistakable.
“She has no idea,” Vanessa said. “You transfer the money tomorrow, and then… well, the accident won’t look suspicious.”
“Make sure it looks like a car crash,” Andrew replied casually. “Nothing too violent. We don’t want questions.”
My blood ran cold. They were planning to kill me.
I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. I slowly stepped back, one step at a time, until I reached the door and got into my car.
There was no need of going to the lawyer’s office anymore.. I didn’t think, I just drove. The office was tucked between a Laundromat and a florist, but I knew exactly where I was going. The same place Andrew had taken me six months ago, insisting we needed to “plan for the future.”
I walked into the insurance building and headed straight for the lobby. I walked into the insurance building and went to the lobby. A young woman at the desk smiled politely at me. I didn’t give a damn.
“Good day, ma’am. How may I help you?” she asked.
“Please, I’d like to see Mr. Greene,” I said, my voice sharp and hurried.
The secretary’s smile faltered just slightly. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Greene today?”My eyes narrowed with anger. She saw I wasn’t in the mood for her questions.
“Okay, just a moment,” she said, rolling her bulgy eyes at me before calling Mr. Greene.
I began pacing, back and forth, each step a reminder of how close I was to snapping. Patience was a luxury I didn’t have.
And that was it; I walked in and canceled the policy without blinking. Andrew’s name was the only one listed as beneficiary. Of course it was.
As I stepped back outside, the pieces slammed into place every odd conversation, every delay, and every excuse. Together, they painted something dark, something I could no longer ignore.
Everything was beginning to make sense. I was finally starting to understand why I couldn't remember anything from the other night.
I had suffered too much in this marriage to simply let it all go. I refused to be the fool anymore. It was time to make a bold move one that would show Andrew and Vanessa I was done being Mrs. Goody two shoes.
The day dawned golden and calm, the kind of morning that made Harlem feel like the warm center of the universe. The Story House stood tall and quiet in the early light, its windows reflecting the promise of something new. Inside, the air shimmered with anticipation. There were no official events scheduled, no guests expected—but something was coming. Skye could feel it. She sat at the back table, tracing her fingers over the ribbon binding a letter she hadn’t yet opened. It had come in anonymously, like the others. But something about this one felt different. Her name was on the envelope in perfect block letters: “To Skye. For what you gave me without knowing.” River entered the room, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and a freshly baked scone from the café next door. His smile was soft, tired in a way that only love and sleepless nights could explain. “You haven’t opened it yet?” he asked, nodding to the letter. “Not yet,” Skye said. “I’m scared it’ll change something.” He ki
The morning after the rain, Harlem buzzed with its usual rhythm, but inside The Story House, something had shifted. The air was quieter. Heavier. As if the very walls were holding their breath. Skye sat alone in her office, her fingers tracing the spine of a leather-bound journal that had been left anonymously in the drop box. It wasn’t a donation—she could tell. It was personal. Raw. She could feel the story pressing out from within its pages like steam from a kettle. The note taped to the front simply read: “For the ones who never got to speak.” She opened it carefully. Inside were letters—dozens of them. Unsent, unaddressed, written in smudged ink and trembling handwriting. Some dated back five years. Others were recent. Some were addressed to mothers. Others to daughters. Lovers. Teachers. Abusers. To “the man who sat next to me on the train.” To “the father who never came back.” To “me, when I was fifteen.” Skye’s breath caught on the third letter. It was addressed: “To the
The rain came without warning. It wasn’t the kind of gentle drizzle that softened the world into poetry. It was heavy and relentless, like the sky itself had decided it couldn’t hold back anymore. The streets of Harlem shimmered under the downpour, pedestrians scattering beneath awnings, taxis honking louder than usual, and neon lights reflecting in kaleidoscopic puddles. Inside The Story House, it was warm, dry, and alive with quiet motion. Marla sat cross-legged on the floor of the reading room, surrounded by kids with crayons and open journals. River stood by the front desk, flipping through a delivery manifest, while Skye paced in the hallway near the sound studio, phone pressed tightly to her ear. Her voice was low, urgent. “No, that’s not what we agreed on. We said full funding for the mentorship program, not just pilot support.” Whoever was on the other end gave a long-winded excuse. Skye’s jaw tightened. “I understand the hesitation,” she said finally, “but this isn’t a do
The workshop room buzzed with quiet anticipation. It was Saturday morning, the first snowfall still fresh on the streets outside, and yet more than twenty young women had gathered in the warm light of The Story House’s creative wing. Skye stood at the front of the room, chalk in hand, heart pounding. “Let’s start with something simple,” she said, her voice steady. “I want you to write a letter to the girl you were five years ago.” Pens scratched against paper. Heads bowed. The silence wasn’t empty—it was rich with vulnerability. Skye walked slowly among them, glancing over shoulders with gentle respect. Some girls had tears in their eyes. Others clenched their jaws as they wrote. No one looked away. No one gave up. By the end of the hour, every piece of paper had something raw on it. Something real. And for the first time since The Story House opened, Skye read hers aloud. “To the girl who thought love only came with bruises, You were wrong. You’re about to meet people who love
The first snow came early that year. Skye woke to find the lake dusted in white, frost clinging to the bare branches outside the bedroom window. For a moment, it didn’t feel real—like the world had been paused, repainted in hushed tones. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake River, and padded downstairs with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The Story House was quiet this weekend—no workshops, no events. Just stillness. Skye made coffee, then curled up on the couch with her journal. She stared at the fire crackling in the hearth and let herself breathe. This—quiet mornings, snow, peace—was a luxury she never used to trust. Sometimes she still didn’t. Because healing wasn’t linear. Some days still ached. Some nights still clawed at her ribs. But there were also days like this one, when everything inside her felt stitched together, not perfect—but whole. Marla padded into the room wearing fuzzy socks and holding a book. “Mom,” she said sleepily, “Can we read?” Skye n
The first time Skye heard the girl’s voice, it stopped her cold. She was walking past the recording studio in The Story House, arms full of books, when a low, trembling melody floated through the slightly ajar door. It wasn’t perfect—raw in places, uneven in others—but it had the kind of ache that made your soul tilt. Skye paused. Inside, a teenage girl sat hunched over a mic, headphones too big for her head. Her name was Cora. Fourteen. Foster system veteran. Newly placed with a grandmother she barely knew. She rarely spoke above a whisper. But now she was singing. When the track ended, the sound engineer gave her a quiet thumbs-up. Cora nodded, pulling the headphones off with shaking hands. Skye knocked gently and stepped inside. “You wrote that?” Cora blinked, startled. “I didn’t know anyone was listening.” “I wasn’t supposed to be,” Skye admitted, “but I’m really glad I was.” Cora looked down. “It’s stupid.” “It’s beautiful,” Skye corrected. Silence. Then Cora asked, “H
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