Married To My Best Friend's Husband[Plead To God]

❈ ❈ Alessia Pov ❈ ❈

They always say there is no reward for being a good wife. And maybe they were right. Especially for a woman like me.

I was crazy in love with Edward—the kind of love that doesn't ask questions, doesn't see the red flags waving frantically in front of your face. The kind of love that trusts completely because he left his entire family to marry me. He chose me over them. He sacrificed everything, and I believed that meant something. I believed that was proof of love.

I didn't know I was already drowning.

The slap echoed through Lucia's like a gunshot.

Stella's head snapped sideways, her cheek blooming red, and for a second the entire restaurant went quiet. Even the waiter froze mid-step, a tray balanced on his palm like he was afraid to breathe.

I was still holding my hand up, fingers spread, watching the shock ripple across her face.

"You slept with my husband?" My voice came out low. Dangerous. Like something caged finally breaking free. "You got pregnant? And you had the audacity—the absolute fucking audacity to tell me to my face?"

Stella's lip trembled. Her green eyes filled with tears so fast it was almost cartoonish.

"You should have lived with the guilt," I continued, stepping closer. "You should have carried that weight every single day for the rest of your life. You should have worn it like a fucking scar. Instead, you sit here and what? Confess? Like that makes you brave?"

She dropped to her knees right there in the middle of the restaurant like her legs gave out. Her hands came up, palms pressed together like she was praying.

"I'm in love with him," she choked out. "I've been in love with him since college. I couldn't—I couldn't help it."

I laughed. The sound came out harsh and brittle, like glass breaking inside my chest.

"You're in love with who?" I asked, tilting my head. "With my husband?"

She nodded, tears streaming down her face now, her whole body shaking.

"You have no shame," I said flatly. "We've been friends since thirteen years old, Stella. Do you even understand what that means? That's my entire adult life. I discussed every single damn thing with you. I never kept anything whatsoever from you, because I thought of you as my bestfriend and not just only that. But as a sister. I confided in you and tell you things that I've never told another living soul."

She opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.

"Don't. I don't want to hear any of your excuses anymore.”

One word. That's all it took to shut her down.

I stared at her kneeling there on the marble floor like she was a beggar, and something cold moved through my chest. Something that felt like power for the first time in months.

"Your home shall never be yours," I said quietly. The words came out smooth like I was reading them from somewhere deeper than thought. "Your children will never be yours. You'll spend the rest of your life reaching for something you can't hold, and you will never understand why."

She made a sound—something between a sob and a gasp.

I grabbed my bag from the back of the chair, shifted my weight to my other hand, steadying myself. Seven months pregnant and I still had more grace than she ever would.

The water glass sat on the table, condensation beading down the outside. I picked it up.

For a moment, I just held it. Looked at her there on her knees, tears streaming, her expensive dress getting wrinkled and dirty against the floor. I looked at the woman who'd known me since we were kids. Who'd braided my hair at summer camp. Who'd been there the night Edward proposed.

I leaned down and spit in her face.

Then I poured the water over her head, ice cubes spilling into her lap, and watched it run down her skin like she was finally getting baptized into the life she actually deserved.

"Don't ever contact me again," I said.

I turned and walked out of Lucia's without looking back. Behind me, I could hear her gasping, the soft murmur of other diners pretending they hadn't just witnessed something, and I didn't care.

I didn't care about any of it anymore.