The Betrayed Wife’s Vengeance

NAOMI’S POV

At twenty-six, I had stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.

I didn’t need grand gestures or sweeping romance. I didn’t need passion that took off in flames and then faded fast.

What I needed was stability. A quiet home. A husband who came home at a reasonable hour and a life I could actually count on.

For the past few months, I had finally started to believe I had that life again.

James had changed. After a year of cold distance, late nights at the office, and excuses I forced myself to believe, he was suddenly present. He came home at six. He asked about my day. He kissed my forehead before bed. I didn’t question it because I was too grateful.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” James said, pressing a kiss to my cheek as he slid out of bed.

I smiled, still half-asleep, my heart felt warm. Three years. We had made it three years.

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he promised, buttoning his shirt. “We’ll go somewhere nice. Just the two of us.”

“I’d like that,” I whispered.

He left, and I lay there for a moment, letting the happiness settle in my chest. This was what I had been waiting for.

My marriage was finally healing.

I got up and dressed quickly, eager to start the day. I had plans to pick up the necklace James had gotten me—he’d mentioned it was being resized—and surprise him with it at dinner.

But first, I needed to check on Delia.

My stepsister had been living with us for two months now. I still remembered the night she called, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Naomi, I need you. Please. I don’t have anyone else.”

Delia had told me she was pregnant. That she had been assaulted by a stranger at a bar. That she was scared and alone and thinking about ending her life.

I didn’t hesitate. I drove three hours in the middle of the night, packed her things, and brought her home.

James had been surprisingly supportive. “She’s family,” he’d said. “We’ll take care of her.”

I had cried that night, overwhelmed by gratitude. My husband had finally become the man I always knew he could be.

I knocked softly on the guest room door. “Delia? You awake?”

“Yeah,” came the groggy reply.

I pushed the door open and found Delia sprawled across the bed, her small baby bump visible beneath the thin blanket. She looked pale and tired.

“I’m heading out for a bit. Do you need anything before I go?” I asked.

Delia shook her head, not meeting my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? I can make you tea. Or toast. The baby needs—”

“I said I’m fine,” Delia snapped, then softened her tone. “I’m sorry….I think it my hormones.”

I nodded, swallowing the sting. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

I left the room and grabbed my purse, pushing down the unease that had been creeping up on me lately. Delia was traumatized, pregnant and alone.

Of course she was moody. I had no right to feel hurt.

I drove to the jeweler’s first, humming along to the radio, letting myself feel hopeful.

The jeweler, an older man with kind eyes, recognized me immediately. “Mrs. Greer! Your wedding ring is ready. He came by to pick it up earlier this morning.”

I froze.

“He did?”

“Yes, ma’am. About an hour ago. He said he wanted to surprise you.”

My heart fluttered. James was already planning something. He must have lied about the resizing just to throw me off. I smiled, thanked the jeweler, and walked back to my car feeling lighter than I had in months.

I decided to stop by the bakery next—James loved their lemon tarts. I got them and then head home to get ready for our dinner.

The drive back was short. I parked in the driveway and noticed James’s car already there.

He really did come home early.

I grinned, grabbing the box of tarts, and hurried inside.

The house was quiet.

I set the box of lemon tarts on the kitchen counter, as my smile faded. Delia’s bedroom door was closed.

That was strange.

Delia always left it open. She hated closed spaces.

I felt a knot form in my stomach.

I moved slowly down the hallway, my pulse began to thud in my ears. As I reached the master bedroom, I noticed the door was slightly open.

Voices drifted through the gap.

James’s voice, a light laugh.

Then—

“Fuck... you’re so tight Delia.”

I froze and my breath got caught halfway in my throat.

Then Delia’s voice came, breathless and unmistakable.

“Harder James. Harder”

My world tilted, I tightened my fingers  around the doorframe as my mind scrambled for reason, for logic, for anything that would make those words mean something else.

No, I was hearing wrong. I had to be.

James was supposed to be at work.

Delia was my sister. And today was our anniversary.

This was impossible.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs as I pushed the door open.

And everything inside me went down in one go.

James was on the bed.

Delia was on top of him, naked, her blonde hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. The blanket had fallen away, exposing the curve of her pregnant belly as she moved against him on my bed.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My vision became blurry.

My body turned ice cold, but heat flooded my face so quickly that it burned out the cold. My stomach lurched violently, as bile rose in my throat.

This couldn’t be real. My sister and my husband on my wedding anniversary.

The box of pastries slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud, the sound was swallowed by the ringing in my ears.

“What...” My voice cracked.

James’s head jerked toward me and his face drained of color.

Delia turned more slowly and smiled lazily.

I stared at her, unable to move, unable to think. My mind was tearing apart under the weight of what I was seeing.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” I choked out, my voice trembling. “James... Delia...”

“Well,” Delia said, not moving or covering herself. “Took you long enough.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed and my chest was caving in.

“James?” I whispered as tears streamed down my face.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and said nothing.

“Don’t look so shocked, Naomi,” Delia continued, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You really thought he changed because he loved you? He changed because I moved in. Because I’m carrying his baby. Because he can’t stand to be away from me.”

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

The room blurred again. What? My husband was the baby daddy?!

I shook my head. “No. You said you were... you said you were assaulted. You said—”

“I lied.” Delia shrugged. “I’ve been sleeping with your husband for over a year. The pregnancy is his. And you—” She laughed cruely. “You’ve been running around making me tea and rubbing my feet while I carry your husband’s child. You’re so dumb, Naomi. So pathetically desperate to be loved.”

I looked at James. I needed him to deny it. To say something. Anything.

James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was annoyed by the inconvenience. “She’s not wrong, Naomi. But I never wanted you to know this way.”

The floor dropped out from under me.

Delia smirked, resting her head on James’s shoulder. “We were going to tell you eventually. After the baby came. We just needed a place to stay until then. Thanks for being so accommodating, sis.”

My legs gave out. But I caught myself on the doorframe, holding back tears that fell regardless.