Authors note: This is a follow on to my earlier story ‘Her Secret Life’ and is one of several additions that are a work in progress.
A tempest of emotions thrummed through my veins as I spread the photos out on the kitchen table. It was all there, in bright vivid colour. The quality of the photographs was exceptional, leaving no doubt as to who it would be.
A deep primal rage coiled in my stomach, swirling around and erupting as I smashed my fists violently on the hardwood table, the thud echoing through the house. I couldn’t stop looking through the images, each one worse than the last. I wanted to scream. To make him hurt the way that I was hurting. My heart pounded as I seethed with scorn and fury. I’d never felt such an intense hatred, not even for my worst enemy on the battle front. A brutal and bloody vengeance was my first thought.
The pieces of the puzzle started to fit, my mind piecing all the ugly pieces together. He worked late and left early; always an urgent job and messages pinged on his phone at all hours. He wasn’t working.
He was out with her.
That bastard, he betrayed me! With her, of all people; that trumped up, botox filled whore from the primary school. I saw the way she looked at him when we went to the parents and friends association meetings. Her in her designer Gucci clothes and her layered on make up. She was always after him, I should’ve seen the signs. I cant believe how stupid I was! I caught him once looking back, undressing her with his eyes. He brushed it off, said I was imagining things. He gaslighted me and I fell for it!
He was a very handsome man and he often attracted the attention of ladies when we were out together. But I should’ve trusted my instincts. They’d never let me down before, not ever. I wanted to let someone in, open the doors to my heart, even just a little bit. To feel normal and content, but it wasn’t meant to be. I felt like I was on the edge. Everything I thought I knew came crashing down around me. Tears welled up as the plethora of emotion overwhelmed me. I don’t ever allow myself to be vulnerable, to show any real emotion. It’s how I kept myself sane. Kept myself safe. This is what happens when you love someone, you’re always bound to have your heart broken.
I sat for what seemed like hours, trying to work out what to do next. If this was any other job, I’d set my emotions aside, read the brief and undertake the necessary preparations. I realised that I had not even looked at the rest of the particulars, or stopped to think who may have sent through the request.
It dawned on me that he must have been living a clandestine life, not just with me but with at least two other women. I mean, someone had to have sent the job through, taken the pictures and have enough money to acquire my services. The letter was brief, handwritten on high quality paper and in neat cursive font. I unfolded it and read its contents:
Dear Mary
I have been referred to you by some acquaintances who have been pleased with services that have been rendered. I have enclosed some pictures of his numerous indiscretions and an itinerary for the lying, cheating, backstabbing philanderer. I don’t think I’m the only one he’s cheated on. There’s always more than one. He told me that I was his true love. That he loved me and he’d always be with me. But I started to get suspicious when he stopped taking my calls, going off grid for weeks at a time then coming back and using me for his pleasure.
Why do men always break our hearts? I’m sure you’ve heard this all before. I wallowed in the darkness. I couldn’t believe he’d throw away everything that we had together. But I realised that I had to pick up the pieces, rebuild and move on with my life. I The only way that I was able to do this was him dead and buried.
I want him to suffer. To writhe in agony and feel as broken as he made me feel. I have significant financial means and am prepared to pay whatever amount you feel is appropriate to make this happen.
I hope you are able to take on the job and I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.
Alison
The name was not familiar, but she obviously knew who I was. My reputation clearly preceded me.
My phone buzzed on the table. I looked down at my watch, not realising how late it was. I was due at school; I was a classroom helper and had to make haste to arrive on time. I splashed water on my face and freshened up, hiding my despair and making my way out the door. I check the vanity mirror and stared at my reflection. I used to be sure about who was looking back at me, but now, nothing made sense.
As I drove to school, I had some time to compose myself, pull it together and think. I had to work out what to do. Still so many unanswered questions. It was normally easy for me to just do the job; make the hit, call the cleaner and be on my way. They never had a personality, a connection that really mattered. This approach had never let me down in the past, but this time it was different.
This time, it was personal.
© T. Zerafa 2023
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my writing. If you haven’t read any of my other pieces, take a look through my blog and listen to my podcast ‘Flash Fiction in Five‘ on Spotify, iTunes and iHeartRadio. Please feel free to like, share, subscribe or comment below.
Roads less travelled 
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