Never the Good Girl

The Bedroom Betrayal

The gym bag thuds against my hip as I push through the front door. My ponytail is a mess, strands sticking to my neck, but I actually feel okay. For thirty minutes on that treadmill, my mind was finally quiet. I wasn’t wondering where Fred was last night or scrolling through those blurry paparazzi photos of him at some club opening.

I drop my bag by the coat rack and kick off my sneakers. The house is dead quiet, just the low hum of the AC. Fred’s car is in the driveway, so I know he’s home. Maybe we can actually order takeout, and relax like real husband and wife. Maybe tonight he’ll look at me instead of his phone.

Then I hear a muffled groan.

I tilt my head, trying to figure out where it's coming from. At first, I think it’s the TV, Fred is fond of always leaving it on.

I move to the kitchen and set my bag down slowly, like the noise might hear me and disappear. I pour a glass of water and just stand there at the sink, staring at the back garden. The grass is perfectly trimmed. The patio furniture is expensive and untouched. We've never for once, had breakfast out there together.

The sound doesn't stop. It gets clearer, drifting down through the ceiling.

It’s a moan. A woman’s voice. And then I hear him. I’d know that voice anywhere.

"Right there. Don't stop. Just like that."

My glass hits the counter harder than I meant it to. My heart starts slamming against my ribs.

He wouldn’t. Not here. Not in our house.

I’ve spent years swallowing the gossip. The blogs, the whispers at parties I took it all with a straight spine and a fake smile. But this? This was my home. My bedroom. The one place I told myself was still mine.

My feet move before I can even think.

I climb the stairs slowly, my hand dragging on the railing. The sounds get louder with every step. My body knows the truth before my brain is ready to admit it. My hands are shaking and my throat feels like it's closing up. By the time I reach the landing, I can hear everything.

"Mmm… f**k, yes, just like that…."

"You like that, baby? Tell me how much."

I hear a wet, slow sound. The shift of weight against the dresser. A groan from him, and then her loud and satisfied, like she’s trying to make sure I hear.

"s**t…. that mouth…. don't you dare f*****g stop…."

I stand outside the bedroom door. My hand hovers over the handle.

Every part of me wants to turn around. Go back downstairs and pretend I didn’t hear anything. I could pack this moment away into that dark, airless place where I keep all the other lies, just to survive.

But I don't. I press down on the handle and push the door open.

Fred is there, his back against the dresser, completely naked. His head is tipped back, one hand braced on the wood and the other buried in the hair of the woman kneeling in front of him.

He’s still wearing his watch. That’s the first thing I see his silver watch. The one I bought him for our third anniversary.

The woman has her back to me. I can’t see her face, but I see everything else. Her head is moving slowly, like it's dancing. Fred’s jaw is slack, his eyes half closed and glazed with pleasure.

"Right there…. f**k… swallow it, every drop, don't waste a single "

"FRED!"

The scream tears out of me. It scrapes my throat bloody. I don’t even recognize my own voice.

I can't see more of this again. My body moves on pure instinct, just needing to get away from the sight of him. I make it to the living room before my legs give out. I collapse onto the sofa, hands over my mouth, gasping like I’ve run ten miles.

He comes downstairs three minutes later. He looks like a man who isn't bothered at all. He shows up in the doorway wearing nothing but his trousers.

"Who the f**k do you think you are?" he asks.

I look up at him, my mouth opening and closing. "Fred…."

"No." He cuts me off, his voice sharp. "Who gave you the right to walk into my house and disrupt me like that? Are you out of your mind?"

His house.

"Fred," I say, and I hate how broken I sound. "I just walked into our bedroom and you were… in our home… with another woman." My voice cracks. "In our bed, Fred."

He rolls his eyes. He actually rolls his eyes.

He picks up a glass of whiskey from the side table like it’s just another Tuesday afternoon. "Oh please. Shut the f**k up. What do you even know about anything?"

"What do I know?" I stand up. My legs are shaking, but I refuse to look up at him from the floor. "I know I’ve been your wife for five years. And you dare bring another woman here?"

"“Why wouldn’t I f**k her?” he cuts in, stepping closer. “Don’t you see how f*****g endowed she is? t**s like that, mouth like a goddamn vacuum. She knows how to handle a man.”

"Fred…" I’m trembling now. "What else do you want from me? I’ve done everything. I stood by you when you were broke. I gave up my career, my dreams…."

“Exactly.” He laughs, short and cruel. “The good wife. I don’t f*****g want a good wife, Samantha. I want someone badass, someone daring, someone experimental in bed. Someone who can f**k me properly not some vanilla good girl who thinks missionary twice a month is adventurous.”

The words hit me like a slap. I feel small. Stupid for ever thinking loyalty mattered to a man like him.

"I was your first everything, remember?" Tears are spilling down my face now. "You said I was enough. You promised…."

"Promises change when the money rolls in." He shrugs. "And I’m done pretending. I want a divorce."

Everything spins for a second. I can’t believe it. Five years… gone. I just want to run.

Divorce?

"You’re throwing away five years because I’m not… kinky enough?"

"I’m throwing away five years because I’m bored out of my f*****g mind." He turns back toward the stairs. "Pack your s**t if you want. Or don’t. I don't care. Just don't be here when I come back down."

He disappears upstairs. I hear the bedroom door slam, then muffled voices, then laughter.

Something inside me just snaps.

I grab my gym bag, my keys, and my phone. I just need to get out.

The front door bangs behind me. I slide into my car, my hands shaking so badly I can barely start the engine. I don’t look back at the house as I pull out of the driveway.

This was not the life I wanted.

I drive past the estate. I don’t know where I’m going. But I know one thing.

I’m never coming back