After My Husband Moved His Mistress Into Our Home

I woke up before the alarm went off. The room was still dark. Russell's side of the bed was empty and cold. He'd been sleeping in his office more and more lately. I told myself it was work. I always told myself it was work.

I got up and went to the kitchen. The marble counters gleamed under the pendant lights. I pulled out flour, sugar, eggs. Today was our third wedding anniversary. Three years. I wanted to make him a cake. Something special. Something that said I still loved him even when he barely looked at me anymore.

I mixed the batter slowly. The whisk scraped against the bowl. I thought about the first time I baked for him. It was back in college when Daphne left him. He'd stopped going to class. Stopped eating. I brought him cookies and sat with him until he smiled again. He said I saved his life. Maybe I did. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he only married me because he felt like he owed me.

I poured the batter into the pan and slid it into the oven. While it baked, I wrote him a letter. I told him I loved him. I told him I was grateful for every day we had together. I folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket hanging by the door. He probably wouldn't find it. He never checked his pockets. But I did it anyway.

The cake came out golden and perfect. I let it cool and then covered it with cream cheese frosting. I arranged fresh strawberries on top. I stepped back and looked at it. It was beautiful. He would love it. Or at least I hoped he would.

I showered and got dressed for work. Black slacks. White blouse. Hair pulled back. I touched the pearl earrings my mother gave me before she got sick. They were small and simple. I wore them every day. They reminded me she used to be whole.

I worked at Harmon & Greaves Funeral Home in Manhattan. I did restorative makeup for the deceased. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't what I dreamed of doing when I studied art in college. But it paid well. Well enough to cover my mother's care at the psychiatric facility in Connecticut. Well enough to keep her safe and comfortable. That was all that mattered.

I drove to the funeral home and parked in the back lot. The morning air was cool. I walked through the employee entrance and nodded to Sienna Walsh. She was my closest colleague. She had kind eyes and always brought me coffee.

"Happy anniversary, Layla," she said with a smile.

"Thanks," I said. "I made a cake."

"He's a lucky man."

I didn't answer. I just smiled and went to the preparation room. There was a woman on the table. Elderly. Gray hair. Peaceful face. Her family had requested natural makeup. I opened my kit and started working. My hands never shook when I did this. It was the only time I felt completely steady.

I was halfway through blending her foundation when the door slammed open.

I looked up. Russell stood in the doorway. He wore a charcoal suit. His jaw was tight. His eyes were hard. And beside him, clinging to his arm, was Daphne.

My half-sister. My father's mistake. The woman Russell loved before he ever knew my name.

She had tears streaming down her face. Her mascara was smudged. She looked fragile and broken. She was very good at looking fragile and broken.

"Russell?" I said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer me. He looked at Daphne. She sobbed into his shoulder.

"Tell her what you did," he said. His voice was ice.

I blinked. "What?"

"You pushed her," he said. "Down the stairs. She could have been killed."

I stared at him. Then at her. Her eyes met mine for just a second. There was no pain in them. Just triumph.

"I didn't," I said. "Russell, I didn't touch her. I haven't even seen her since—"

"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "She has bruises. She's terrified of you."

Sienna stepped into the doorway behind them. Her face was pale. Other staff members were gathering. Mourning families in the lobby could probably hear every word.

"Russell, please," I whispered. "Not here. Not now."

"Apologize," he said.

I felt something crack inside my chest. "What?"

"Get on your knees and apologize to her. Right now."

I looked around the room. Sienna's hand was over her mouth. The other staff members looked horrified. The woman on the table lay silent between us.

"Russell, I didn't do anything," I said. My voice broke.

"Then you won't mind apologizing," he said coldly. "Unless you want me to make a call. One call, Layla. I can have every person in this building blacklisted from the industry. Is that what you want?"

I looked at Sienna. At the others. They needed their jobs. They had families. Bills. Lives.

I sank to my knees.

The floor was cold and hard. My hands were shaking now. I looked up at Daphne. She smiled down at me. It was small. Delicate. Victorious.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Daphne leaned down. Her breath was warm against my ear. "This is where you belong," she said softly.

Tears ran down my face. I didn't wipe them away. I just knelt there until Russell turned and walked out with her on his arm.

I stood slowly. My knees ached. Sienna tried to come to me but I shook my head. I went back to the table. I picked up my brush. My hands were still shaking. I touched my mother's earrings. I took a breath. And I finished the woman's face.

I left work early. I drove home in silence. When I walked into the penthouse, I saw the luggage first. Designer suitcases. Expensive leather. Lined up neatly in the guest suite.

Daphne was moving in.

I walked to the kitchen. The cake was still on the counter. The candles were in the drawer where I'd left them. I looked at the cake for a long time. Then I looked through the terrace doors.

Russell and Daphne were outside. They were laughing. She had a glass of wine. He was smiling at her the way he used to smile at me. Maybe the way he never really smiled at me at all.

I stood in the dark kitchen. The city lights glittered outside. And I realized something.

I had been kneeling for a very long time.