Jenna Valentino thought she had found her forever after.
Life was good. A husband she loved, a daughter she adored, a dream job and a beautiful home. But nothing could prepare her for the bittersweet taste of betrayal, shattering the illusion.
Dev...
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~~ Jenna ~~
"Damn, I—" A deep voice anchored my spiralling thoughts. "Jenna?"
His voice was vaguely familiar, followed by the weirdest feeling. But I didn't have time to dwell on it as I blinked away fresh tears. His face blurred by watery eyes. "Sorry," I muttered before side-stepping him and practically sprinting... in the exit's direction, or so I hoped.
Stepping through the sliding double door entrance, the brightness of the sun stung my eyes. I inhaled as much air as possible, expanding my lungs as far as they could accommodate. Head still spinning, stomach rolling. It was a relief to be outside the building. But it wasn't over yet. I had to get to the car.
Reaching the corner, I stopped. Hands trembling, a swell of anger caught me unawares. A sudden urge to turn around, go back. Make a scene.
My shoulders slumped. Who was I kidding? The anger shrivelled, leaving nothing by emptiness. That wasn't me. I would do what I always did. Smile and smother my emotions. What good would it do when I would just end up standing in front of them both crying?
Sighing. I pushed aside all emotion and with slow steps, tried not to think—but that was easier said than done. My brain contested what I had just witnessed, trying to make sense of it all. Was it a dream? Had I woken into a crazy alternative universe where I was the butt of someone's cosmic joke?
Don't be stupid, Jenna. Get to the car.
Keeping to the side of the building, I made my way along the grass verge. Images flashed through my mind of him and her, and just for extra torment, I imagined they're laughing at me. The stupid wife. I'm worried there're gonna be stuck on a loop and never leave me alone.
Sadly, I knew from experience, trauma can leave a permanent mark, and I wanted nothing more than to shove them into some dark corner of my head and hope in time they would fade. But ruthlessly for now they steamrolled through, crushing my world, tightening my chest.
I steadily picked up my pace but barely made it another twenty steps before the inevitable happened.
Oh Jesus, no...
The nausea clawed at my throat as I tried to hold it down. Gripping my stomach, it was too late as partially digested birthday cake spewed out—I was throwing up my daughter's precious birthday cake. The same cake she had spent hours baking and decorating all over the grass. Some landing on my very nice Jimmy Choo ballet flat shoes. I panted unsteadily, placing my hand flat on the wall, balancing myself. My arm shook under the pressure as I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. The stench invaded my nose as I heaved again, even though there was no nothing left to empty.
Cruel awareness hit hard—This wasn't a dream. This was real life, my life.
