How A Wife Speaks

“How long has this been going on?” Fatima’s voice is steady, almost too steady. Her husband of six years stands there without a hint of shame. “Does it matter, Fatima? Yes, Leslie is pregnant with my child, but nothing is going to change,” he says, annoyed that she dares question him. Her calmness makes him shift, though he refuses to show it. “How. Long?” She repeats slowly, keeping her voice low so she won’t wake their sleeping children. “Three years.” Fatima blinks. “You’ve been cheating on me for half our marriage… with your business partner?” “Lower your voice. Don’t make it sound bad. I’m a man – these things happen.” He even chuckles. “Leslie will be taken care of. You’ll stay the wife, and Leslie and I–” “Will get married,” she cuts in. He stares, thrown off, until she adds, “Top drawer in your office. Divorce papers. Sign them first thing tomorrow.” No tears. No raised voice. No trembling. Just calm finality, and that unsettles him more than anger ever could. “I’m not letting that happen. You’re my wife.” “Ex-wife,” she corrects softly. Before he can react, Fatima pushes her chair back and stands. She doesn’t storm off or slam anything. She simply picks up a magazine from the table and walks out with quiet, controlled steps, far too composed for a woman ending a six-year marriage. And that hits him harder than any shouting would have. No tears. No pleading. No hesitation. Nothing. It wounds his pride. He deserves tears. “Hold on,” he snaps, rising quickly from his seat.

I knock on the door, heart pounding like it always does when I’m about to see him. “Come in,” Justin’s voice calls—cool, smooth, and frustratingly calm. I take a deep breath and walk in, holding the folder tightly. “Here’s the report you requested, sir.” He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps typing, his expression unreadable. “You’re late,” he says without missing a beat. I clench my jaw. “There was a delay at the printer—” “No excuses, Joanna. Just do better next time.” Ouch. Professional and cold. As always. I nod, ignoring the sting in my chest. “Yes, sir.” I turn to leave, gripping the doorknob—just one more second and I’ll be out of this weird tension-filled office— “Wait.” I freeze. I turn around slowly. “Yes?” Justin stands now, walking toward me. In his hand, a familiar brown paper bag. He holds it out. “You didn’t have lunch.” I blink. “I’m fine.” “You skipped breakfast too. Eat.” I hesitate. “What is it?” “Chicken pesto. No onions.” My breath catches. He still remembers? “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I just… remember things.” My fingers brush his as I take the bag. Warmth. Stupid warmth that shouldn’t still feel this familiar. Then, he looks at me—really looks at me. “You shouldn’t skip meals… wife.” Silence. My chest tightens. “Don’t call me that.” But my voice is too soft to sound convincing. I walk out before I say something I’ll regret. His words echo in my mind like a dangerous lullaby. Cold one second. Kilig the next. God… he’s still him. And that’s exactly the problem.

Rule 1: Don’t fall in love with me Rule 2- Don’t touch my things Rule 3: This is not your home, don’t decorate/ change anything Rule 4: Stay out of my Business Rule 5: Don’t ever be seen in public with another man. Rule 6: Don’t touch me. Rule 7: Don’t ever enter my room You know the things about Contract Marriage, they come with rules right? Rules are meant to be broken, but that's just my thoughts. My 6’5 husband, the epitome of irresistible allure and captivating mystery prefers I follow his rules while he's all busy. But the thing is, we both needed this marriage so why should it be His rules? I mean I know I got my own rules and I'll be damn if he doesn't follow them just as I do his. Even I know how to dress up and look good. Now he's thrown into the corner with my rules, it's a battle he intends on winning but tough shit cause so do I. But those are not the only rules that should not be broken, is it? The rules of the heart cannot be obey and Dammit if he doesn't make me swoon but this is our Marriage, Our rules.

I believed I had the perfect life. A successful career as a paediatrician. A beautiful home in Riverside Heights. A devoted husband. A son I loved more than anything. Then, I noticed a stranger's perfume on my husband's skin. What begins as a small suspicion quickly unravels into a nightmare. Hidden messages. Secret meetings. Endless lies. And a younger woman who isn't just sharing my husband's bed—she's carrying his child. Marcus Hale swears he never meant to hurt me. He swears our marriage still means something. But every new discovery reveals a deeper betrayal, and soon, I realize the affair is only the beginning. As our lives explode into divorce, custody battles, financial warfare, and public humiliation, I find myself fighting not only for my son and my future but for the woman I used to be. They thought I would break. They thought I would forgive. They thought I would quietly step aside. They were wrong. Because when a woman loses everything she once believed in, she has nothing left to fear. And I am done being their victim. --- The Wife's Reckoning is a gripping psychological domestic thriller about betrayal, revenge, resilience, and the dangerous consequences of underestimating a woman with nothing left to lose.

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

I was in love. He was handsome and seductive. However, what was supposed to be love became a marriage contract. When my family lost everything, including dignity, I was forced to marry, not out of love, but out of interest. My husband never knew the real reason I accepted his proposal, and I pray he never finds out.