Chapter Five

MADEA

“I am not scheming anything, Sophia. I just want to heal first before throwing my marriage away. Is that okay?” I asked, my voice quieter than I expected, almost fragile. The words sounded strange even to me, like admitting a weakness I usually buried deep beneath my pride.

Sophia hesitated, her eyes scanning my face as though searching for signs of deceit. Then she sighed softly, a sound that carried both pity and frustration.

“Fine,” she said finally, her tone carrying reluctant surrender. “I guess time will divulge what you plan to do next.”

I smiled, but it was the kind of smile you wear for appearances—the one meant to convince others you are okay even when something inside you is quietly breaking. I lifted my glass, took a small sip, and let my gaze drift across the empty space in front of me.

Are you sure about this, Madea? the voice in my mind whispered.

I blinked, forcing the thought away, but my chest still felt tight, as though my ribs were being compressed from the inside. Yes. I’m sure.

Sophia’s sharp eyes caught the movement.

“Did you say something?” she asked, tilting her head, her tone curious yet suspicious.

I laughed softly and shook my head. “Of course not.”

She checked her watch with a quick flick of her wrist, the metallic sound of her bracelet brushing against the surface of her watch breaking the silence even more sharply.

“You know what? I better be going. I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss.”

“Thanks for coming,” I said, standing straighter, trying to summon an air of confidence that felt completely hollow. “And I assure you—I am fine. Alright?”

“Please be,” she said gently, offering a soft smile that only made the emptiness inside me more pronounced.

I walked her to her car. Once she drove off, I returned to the house. The silence that followed pressed down on me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. My chest felt tight. Every breath was shallow, uneven, as though the quiet itself had weight.

I picked up my phone and stared at Jason’s contact. Yesterday, after he left, I had called him three times. He hadn’t answered. Each missed call felt like a stone dropping into my chest, making it heavier with every beat.

Before I could decide whether to text him instead, a sharp knock echoed through the house.

My heart leapt violently. My fingers trembled. Jason had his own key—he wouldn’t knock.

I walked toward the door, my stomach twisting into knots, my palms cold and slick. My pulse pounded in my ears so loudly I was certain anyone nearby would hear it. I opened the door slowly, my body tense, ready to recoil at any sudden movement.

And froze.

Monalisa.

Jason’s first—and only—love.

The woman who had lingered like a shadow over my marriage for years.

She stood on my porch as if she belonged there, her eyes moving slowly over my face before glancing inside the house with a casual, possessive air. A small, calm smile tugged at her lips, and the deliberate ease of her posture made my stomach drop.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” she said.

My chest tightened. My hands felt icy. Panic and anger twisted together in my stomach, coiling like a serpent ready to strike. My throat felt dry, my tongue heavy.

“I believe we haven’t met properly,” she continued, stretching her hand toward me. “I’m Monalisa.”

I stared at her hand, frozen, my fingers digging into the doorframe. I didn’t take it.

Her smile didn’t falter.

“That’s alright,” she said lightly, lowering her hand. “Jason said you were the quiet type.”

My chest ached. My throat burned with humiliation and rage, the combination making it hard to think clearly. My heart was hammering, each beat loud and oppressive, echoing inside me like the sound of a drum in an empty hall.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice sharp despite the tremor threading through it. “Jason isn’t home.”

Her lips curved slowly, predatory in their calm.

“I know.”

A shiver crawled down my spine. My pulse raced, my stomach twisted into tight knots.

“I left him in my bed to come see you,” she said casually, as if she were discussing the weather rather than tearing apart the fragile remnants of my composure.

I swallowed, bile rising in my throat.

“You… what?” I managed.

“I came to see you,” she repeated. “Curious.”

“Curious about what?” I demanded, my voice cracking slightly, a mix of anger and disbelief that made my chest constrict painfully.

Her eyes glinted like a sharpened knife. “About the woman who thinks she can keep a man who already handed her divorce papers.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I felt dizzy. Rage, humiliation, fear—they all tangled inside me, coiling like a knot of fire in my chest. My hands shook. My legs felt weak.

Without waiting for permission, she stepped inside. Her heels clicked deliberately on the floor, each sound like a tiny hammer striking my nerves. She looked around like she owned the space, like she had a right to dismantle my world piece by piece.

“It hasn’t changed much,” she murmured, glancing around the living room. My heart twisted. The casual tone, almost playful, felt like a knife turning in my chest.

Then she walked toward the couch. Jason’s favorite couch. And sat down, crossing her legs as if she had been waiting for this exact moment all along.

My fingers curled into fists.

“You have some nerve,” I said, voice tight with fury, trembling with the humbling realization of her audacity.

Monalisa didn’t react. She reached for the glass I had been drinking from and almost took a slow sip, her calmness amplifying my panic. My stomach churned.

“This smells of dirt. You can do better cleaning a glass you drink from.” Monalisa said lightly, dropping the glass as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I froze, disbelief and anger flooding through me. How dare she speak to me that way in my own house?

“I just wanted to see something,” she continued casually, her eyes fixed on mine, unbothered by the storm she was stirring inside me.

“See what?” I demanded, my voice raw, trembling with emotion.

Her gaze locked on mine. “How desperation looks on you.”

I felt a sting in my chest, sharp, humiliating. My throat tightened as if swallowing had become a punishment. The words sank into me like icy water, shocking me with their precision.

I blinked, trying to blink away the heat rising in my eyes, but it was no use. Tears pricked the corners, hot and humiliating, a betrayal of the control I had fought so hard to maintain. I wanted to look away, to shrink into myself, but her presence held me captive, her calm cruelty rooting me in place.

“I must say,” she continued, her voice smooth, deliberate, and cruel, “it looks so good on you.” She stepped closer, the soft click of her heels on the floor echoing in the silence. “You are so desperate to beg a man who already served you divorce papers to stay married another sixty days.”

I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, each beat a loud, accusatory drum. My hands, which I had clenched tightly around the edge of the counter, trembled ever so slightly.

I tried to speak, tried to form words that would reclaim even an ounce of dignity, but my voice was brittle. “I—I’m not… desperate,” I managed, though it sounded like a lie even to my own ears. My lips quivered, betraying me further.

Monalisa tilted her head slightly, a faint, calculating smile ghosting across her features. “Not desperate?” she murmured, as if tasting the word before letting it hang in the air.

“No, no, not desperate at all. You are simply… negotiating your survival. Clever. Admirable, even.” Her eyes glinted with something sharp and cruel, and I felt as though she were dissecting me with her gaze, exposing every thought I had tried to bury.

My chest ached violently. My pulse thudded painfully in my ears, and my stomach twisted as if it had been pulled by invisible hands.

“How do you even know about that?” I whispered, voice trembling with panic and disbelief.

Her smile widened, cold and calculating. “Jason tells me a lot of things.”

The words cut deeper than any insult I had ever endured. My hands shook, my throat burned. Humiliation and helplessness coiled inside me.

She leaned back against the couch, completely relaxed, as if this house had been hers from the beginning. My stomach churned.

“You should prepare yourself, Madea.”

“For what?”

Her eyes gleamed with quiet menace.

“ What did she mean by prepare myself." I thought to myself, my gaze still fixed on her.