Chapter 12
Hope
I watch absentmindedly as the kettle hisses to a boil, steam curling from the spout and drifting into the open air. My fingers circle the rim of the cup in front of me while my mind spirals around everything I’ve just learned today about my husband’s infidelity.
My husband—my Adrian. The father of my child. The man who has loved me since we were teenagers, has done the unthinkable, the most unforgivable thing I could ever imagine.
There’s no denying what I saw in that folder, it was clear as a hot summer’s day.
Adrian was involved in a full-blown affair with another man’s girlfriend, his teaching assistant of all people.
And judging by the photographs and text messages I’ve seen, it’s as though he never felt an ounce of guilt for betraying me, or our family.
To anyone who didn’t know better, they looked like a normal loving, affectionate couple, brazenly out in the open, as if no one mattered, or even noticed, that they were both entangled with other people.
And that last photo, the one taken in the backseat of his car, the same seat our son sits in, even now as they drive home from his soccer practice—I’ll never be able to erase it from my mind.
Just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I pour the boiling water into my cup, letting it steep and saturate the tea bag. I chose ginger tea specifically because it’s known for settling nausea. And that’s exactly what I need right now, something to help ease the sickness that welled up the moment I sat down across from Kaden.
I still can’t believe I went through with our arrangement and met him, not knowing if he was a dangerous, psychotic pervert, luring married women by claiming he had dirt on their husbands.
Yet when I saw him across the food court, deep in thought, a hint of nervousness in his gaze as he watched the crowd, I realised he was anything but.
His face held a mix of curiosity, worry, and something deeper—hurt, sadness, the look of a man who had been through hell and back.
He stood out like a sore thumb. And it wasn’t the tattoos that covered his body or that he looked like one of those firefighters you’d see on a calendar where they’re covered in fake sweat and ash, holding a cute puppy. No, Kaden was a city boy, through and through.
His designer clothes and perfectly styled hair set him apart from any of the men in this small coastal town. He sat with impeccable posture, never slouching, and the way he held your gaze without breaking eye contact showed the confidence and attentiveness of someone a little more refined.
I admit, at first, I felt a pang of guilt for meeting him today. Seeing Kaden for the first time, I thought about how much I was betraying Adrian, lying to him and sneaking away to meet this attractive, mysterious stranger.
But when Kaden dropped a bomb I never saw coming and showed me the kind of man I’m really married to, that guilt I felt earlier, evaporated faster than the wind.
Even now, sitting here while I take small sips of my hot tea, my emotions are scattered and raw. Hurt, anger, confusion, grief, sorrow—they twist together, like a tight rope I can’t untangle.
How can I face Adrian, knowing what I know now? How can we sit at the dinner table as a family, knowing he lied and deceived us for months? How can I sleep beside him at night, knowing he gave himself to another woman?
I don’t know how, and that’s the truth. I don’t know how to keep living in this house, carrying on with our normal lives, or look my son in the eyes while pretending not to think that his father is nothing more than a lying, selfish dirtbag.
I refuse to be one of those wives who stays for the kids while my soul crumbles inside.
Zac deserves a mother who is happy, who feels secure.
If I stay, he won’t get that—he’ll have a bitter, broken mother with deeply embedded trust issues, and I won’t let him live with that.
We deserve better. I gave Adrian a second chance after he shattered my heart the first time. He won’t get another.
My eyes settle on the cup in my hand, the one Adrian gave me for Mother’s Day last year. I trace the words World’s Best Mum slowly with my finger, knowing that around the same time, he was with another woman.
Then, as if possessed, my hand jerks the cup off the island counter, and it shatters into fragments on the tile floor, the steaming liquid spattering in multiple places.
I stare at the broken pieces, a perfect reflection of my own heart, the one I gave to the only man I’ve ever loved, a man who was never worthy of it from the start. It’s almost laughable how I once thought he was the perfect match for me. That we would last a lifetime together.
But in reality, it was all an illusion, a lie he brought into our lives because the thrill of someone new and his selfish desires were more important than his family.
Yeah, fuck that! And fuck him! He can rot in hell for all I care!
The sound of the door unlocking, followed by Zac’s pealing laughter, snaps me from my daze. I jump up and rush to the laundry for the broom and dustpan.
Seconds later, Zac barrels through the kitchen, his sports bag slung over his shoulder, and right behind him comes the devil himself, Adrian.
“Shit, mum! What happened?” my son asks, his voice pitched with alarm.
“Zac! Language!” Adrian barks from behind him before his gaze falls onto the mess on the floor. “Oh, shit! What happened, babe?”
It’s eerie how alike my son and his father are, like two peas in a pod.
From their expressions down to their mannerisms, the resemblance is undeniable.
I used to find their similarities utterly adorable, something that made my heart swell with pride.
Now, I find myself silently praying that Zac never grows up to be like his father.
I’ll raise him to be better, to have more respect for women, and to never become the kind of man who could so easily betray the people who love and trust him most.
I begin sweeping the broken glass, careful not to step on any of the sharp pieces.
“I accidentally knocked the cup off the island,” I lie. It was definitely no accident, and I’d happily destroy every other item he’s ever given me. “Don’t walk through here until I’ve finished cleaning this up.”
“Is that the cup I gave you for Mother’s Day last year?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I guess I’ll have to get you a new one then.”
“She already has a million cups, Dad. She doesn’t need anymore,” Zac interjects.
“Your mother can never have enough cups, right babe?”
“Zac’s right. I don’t need anything more from you.” The words spill out too fast, too cold, and the way Adrian freezes tells me he feels the shift in my tone just as sharply as I do.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a trace of concern threading through his voice.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, sweeping the glass into the dustpan. “Zac, do you want to go over Marcus’ house tomorrow? Your dad and I have something important to do.”
“We do?” my husband asks, confusion briefly clouding his expression. He opens his mouth to continue, but our eager son jumps in before he can utter another word.
“Oh, can I please?”
“Of course. Let me give Danielle a call.” I walk over to Adrian and press the broom against his chest. “You can finish cleaning up. I’m going to make a quick call.”
He takes it slowly, a faint frown creasing his brow—the last thing I see before I turn away and walk straight out of the room, leaving the two of them standing in the kitchen.
Heading straight to the master bedroom, I pull my phone from the charger and dial Marcus’s mother.
We exchange a few minutes of polite, meaningless small talk, and when she agrees to have Zac for most of the day tomorrow, I let out a long, sigh of relief that at least one thing is going right today.
I connect the phone to the charger and make my way back to the kitchen, where I find Zac sitting perched on the island chair and Adrian on all fours, scrubbing at the spilled tea with a fistful of paper towels.
“Am I going?” Zac asks the moment he sees me.
“Yes. I’ll drop you off at 10.30 in the morning, so make sure you’re up and ready by then.”
“Yay!” he shouts, hopping off the chair and bounding towards me, arms flung wide as he wraps me in a hug. “Can I bring my iPad too?”
“Sure, but don’t be it on it for too long.”
“Okay, Mum. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, baby. Now, go take a shower. I’ll make us something to eat.”
With an enthusiastic nod, Zac sprints to his room as though his heels are on fire, the sound of his footsteps fading until I’m left alone with his father, the space between us suddenly feeling unbearable for the first time since I uncovered his betrayal.
Adrian straightens up, tossing the sodden paper towels into the rubbish bin just as we hear Zac’s bedroom door slam shut.
“Is it safe to ask what this important matter we have to attend to tomorrow is?”
I saunter past him to the fridge, gathering the ingredients for my homemade pizza and forcing my focus onto the task, anywhere but on my cheating scumbag of a husband.
“It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes, and trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.”
“Now I’m even more curious to know what it is.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Why don’t you go freshen up? I’ll call you when lunch is ready,” I say, dumping the vegetables into the sink and rinsing them thoroughly.
“What? I don’t even get a ‘hello, baby, it’s good to have you home’ kiss?”
My hand lingers on the tap for a heartbeat longer before I shut it off and slowly turn to face him.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, hesitating. “I’ve just… got a lot on my mind.” I reach for a paper towel and carefully dry my hands, as I try my best not to show my discomfort.
I round the island and move towards him, hesitating for a few seconds before forcing myself to press a kiss on his cheek. The instant I do, my stomach churns.
I can’t fucking do this. I can’t stand here pretending my husband hasn’t been betraying me for months, and continues to lie to my face.
By tomorrow, he’ll know exactly what he’s about to lose—and just how drastically our lives are about to change.
I move back behind the island and resume prepping the vegetables, my mind and hands absorbed in the task.
Across the room, Adrian watches me, confusion written plainly across his face.
“Um...babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure everything is alright?”
“I’m sure. I just want to get these pizzas in the oven so I can plant the Lemon Myrtle I got at the native garden market this morning.”
He doesn’t respond, only watches me with an intent frown, like he’s trying to read my thoughts, searching for cracks that might expose a lie.
But I give him nothing. I keep my focus on the onion beneath my knife, on the steady rhythm of the blade, and hope that eventually he’ll give up and leave me the hell alone.
After a few minutes, he walks up behind me.
Then, in a move I’m completely unprepared for, he grips my waist and spins me around.
The knife slips from my fingers, clattering loudly against the chopping board, before he pulls me flush against him and crashes his mouth onto mine, hard enough to knock the breath straight from my lungs.
“There. That’s much better.”
His lips curl into a smug smirk, far too self-satisfied, I’m almost tempted to smack it right off his face. Not a second later, he’s gone, disappearing before I can even form a response.
I let him have this moment. Just this once. Because come tomorrow, I’ll make sure he never gets another like it again. Not even if it ends with him on his knees, begging and weeping for one last chance.