Unexpected Divorce

I sighed as I finished another late night at work; Winning the first place in the New York design fashion contest had just secured me a job as a junior designer at SWEET BODY, the Home of Kings and Queens, one of the biggest clothing firm in New York City.

Once home from work, the faint smell of coffee and dirty dishes lingered in the air. The television flickered, casting silhouettes on the walls of the dimly lit living room. Mrs. Margret my mother in- law seated on the couch with her legs crossed and her eyes focused on the screen watching her favorite TV series, eating peanut, but just as I walked in, she looked at me quickly.

"Good evening, Mother." I greeted softly, trying to sound calm

"What's so good about the evening?" she asked, her voice filled with contempt. “Don't you have things to do? I've been waiting to have dinner.  “There is nothing in the fridge; do you want me to starve to death? And tell me,what kind of married woman comes home at this hour?”

I swallowed hard, giving her the respect she deserves even if she never showed me the warmth or affection a mother- in-law ought to, I still loved her despite everything. She had somehow become my home, my family.

 “Let me tidy up quickly, mother, then I’ll rush out to get something for dinner,” I said while trying to keep things in order

“You’d better,” she muttered. “I still don’t know what my son saw in you. These days he barely comes home early, who knows why? He should have chosen better. Instead, he married the daughter of a whore.”

The words hit like a slap. Long after she was done speaking, her voice continued to reverberate in my head. My throat tightened as silent tears slipped down my cheeks, breaking the fragile composure I had fought so hard to keep.

Why that word? The very word I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape, the words I never want to hear it again. Yet it always finds me no matter how far I go; pain has a way of coming back. And for me, it always leads back to my mother.

Though I haven’t seen her in years, I know she’s out there somewhere, still chasing men or being a mistress. I still recall the cruel whispers that followed us everywhere and the laughter of neighbors making fun of her for giving birth at the age of fifteen. She never bothered to tell me who my father was, and I never even knew. I was left to raise myself while she drowned her days in cheap liquor and never-ending parties. Growing up with her was like having an invisible scar. Everyone was aware of who my mother was, and they treated me as though I was meant to be like her. I left because I could take it anymore. I would have been more miserable if I had stayed with her.

 I can still clearly recall her words, she said decisively and casually the day I left. “You’ll be back. People like us don’t get to dream Annabel.” For years, those words tormented me, but oddly, they served as fuel to prove her wrong.

I met Marcus during those trying times; marrying him had been love at first sight. We were young, yes, but we were responsible, devoted, and deeply in love. He never gave me a critical glance. We were both dreamers seeking better lives. I supported him during all of his challenges, aspirations, and ambitions. He put in a lot of effort, and I appreciated that.

Mrs. Margret, his mother, was never fond of me. But Marcus always said she and his sister would warm up to me after we got married and they get to know me better. But that never really happened. I eventually learned to deal with the warmth and the pain of being part of his family

On my way to the grocery shop, my heart was still heavy from Mrs. Margret's hurtful remarks.  I arrive at the store, the chilly air had already dried my tears. I watched as people drew that cart shopping while I stood between the shelves, staring blankly at it, unable to decide what to get. So I called Marcus, because I needed to hear his voice to help me relax a little and ask what he would like for dinner, after several rings He did not respond, so I slipped the phone in my jeans' back pocket and carried on shopping. .

My phone buzzed this time. It was Jessie my colleague at work. I ignored it

It buzzed again, I rolled my eyes. “Probably another round of gossip,” I muttered.

After paying for my items, I finally decided to call her back.

“Hello, Jessie. What is it this time?” I asked, half tired, half amused.

“Why have you been ignoring my calls?” she snapped.

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was busy.”

There was a pause. Then she said quietly, “Anna… I saw Marcus at a hotel. With a woman. She looked rich, very rich from what she was wearing.”

I stopped walking. My voice trembled. “Are you sure it was Marcus?”

“Of course I’m sure. Unlike you, my life isn’t only about home and work, I came out to have fun” she replied bluntly. “From where I’m standing, I can see everyone going in and out. I know what I saw.”

My chest tightened. I swallowed hard.

“Jessie, Marcus is at work. You must be mistaken.”

She sighed. “Anna, it didn’t look work-related. And I’m not blind.” Her voice softened. “But fine. I’ll keep it to myself. You always find a way to doubt me because I’m the big mouth. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You should remember nobody is perfect, not even your husband, Marcus. I have to go.”

The call ended.

I stood there, frozen, the grocery bag heavy in my hand. Her words rang in my ears as she hung up the phone. Jessie is a kind soul, but inquisitive, who talks more than she ought to. Sometimes she’d spread gossip that later turns out to be false at work, which was why I didn’t want to believe her now.

I trust Marcus with every fiber of my being because he is responsible, committed, and loves deeply. He is not the kind of man who would betray his vows.

Marcus is a good husband, a devoted son, and a caring brother. He buried himself in work so completely that he barely had time for himself, let alone for anyone else.

But as I walked out of the store, doubt crept into my heart.

My steps slowed. My chest tightened as doubt slipped in anyway. My heart pounded harder with every step,

And one painful thought refused to leave my mind:

Could Marcus really cheat on me?