New women every night. Different faces, different laughter, different perfume lingering through the hallways like a mark he wanted me to see. He didn’t even try to hide it. It was deliberate—doors left slightly open, voices echoing just loud enough for me to hear.
One evening, while I was folding laundry on the bed, he casually tossed a small box toward me.
It slid across the sheets. Condoms.
“Get a bigger pack next time,” he said without even looking up. “And don’t forget extras. These things don’t last long.”
I stared at him, disbelief turning into anger, then picked it up and threw it straight back. It hit his chest.
“Grow up,” I said sharply.
He only shrugged like I was overreacting. “If you refuse to deal with it, then fine,” he replied. “But make sure the girls get paid tonight. Accounting needs everything documented.”
My hands curled into fists. “So now I’m supposed to fund your affairs?”
“You’re my wife,” he said casually, almost bored. “Handle it. That’s what you do.”
That was the moment something inside me stopped breaking… and started hardening.