Dear Ex Husband:Fear My Return

An unforgivable betrayal

Sabrina’s POV

Hope is a fragile thing—one crack, and it cuts you deeper than glass. Tonight, I learned that the hard way.

Today is our third wedding anniversary. Dinner is waiting, candles burning in silence, because the person who was supposed to respond to my chatter, Phillip, still isn't home.

Truth? This marriage was never built on love. I knew that, I had always known that.

It was cemented by convenience, it was simply just a contract putting on a bridal gown. He never looked at me the way men in novels look at women, like the way I used to imagine when I was younger.

Instead of romance, Phillip preferred to give absence and compensate for it with a shiny credit card.

And his mother? Oh, she makes her disdain an Olympic sport. And after three childless years, I’ve become less of a wife and more of an unwanted roommate in their eyes.

And yet, God help me—I love him.

It might be stupid, but I support that stupidity with hope that maybe one day, if I keep persisting in my devotion to him, one day, he'll finally see me, and want me.

A photograph slipped from the wall to the ground and cracked,

Shit. That was my favorite frame of us.

"This isn't a bad omen, Sabrina." I told myself. "Things are finally working out for you." I repeated as I picked up the shards. Chanting it like a mantra.

Three days ago, I almost died. A car missed me by chance. The driver rushed me to the hospital, and after a few tests, the doctor smiled and said the impossible, that I was pregnant.

I, the famed barren woman, the unnatural one,according to my Dutch mother in-law, had finally conceived.

I didn’t expect it. But in that single heartbeat, hope re-established in my heart. A child. Tonight, I planned to tell him. I had pre—

Buzz.

My phone rang, and I picked up on the second ring.

"Hello...."

"You poor, poor woman."

I squinted, leaning in as the words rasped through the air—thin, uneven, barely more than a scrape of sound. I couldn’t pin it to anyone I knew.

"Who am I speaking to?"

"I'll be sending you a little surprise shortly, keep your spam folder open."

"What—"

The person on the other end hung up, and true to their word a notification popped up on my screen, not a minute later, I saw a message in the spam folder.

Curiosity nudged me to open the folder and the sight on the other side slammed into me like a punch to the chest. My breath snagged hard, my stomach pitching as if it had dropped straight through the floor.

Phillip and Freya weren’t just kissing; their mouths were fused, tangled so tightly it looked like they were trying to melt into one another.

Christ.

My little sister, the one I raised when my parents abandoned us for sketch, the one I worked various jobs to see through education, the one I loved beyond unimaginable reason, Freya…

My hands shook, my phone almost slipping off. “No.No.No.”

"This has to be doctored."

I shook my head, laughing out quietly, an anniversary prank, maybe by Phillip himself even. I laughed for a good minute, remembering that Phillip loved expensive jokes. Good laughs, his mother called them.

But then I called Freya, just to… quickly double-check.

No response.

So I called my husband to simultaneously double-check too.

No response still.

"This doesn't mean anything still, they are very busy people. You know that Elena." But even my soliloquizing wasn't enough to calm my raging nerves.

Twenty calls in with no response from either of them and I had kicked the dinner table, red wine splashed against the white fur rug, the table went flying, so did the cutleries, because the moment I saw the neon sign in the background of the photos, something withered inside me.

Phillip said he would never go there, he swore it time and time again.

"f**k this."

I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, ignoring the fact that I looked disheveled. I needed to see for myself why my husband and sister were lip-tangling in a b**m club.

______

A glass bottle nearly collided with my head the moment my shoes crossed the entrance. There was a fight going on a few inches from where I stood. Two towering men in black suits wrestled with a drunk, their grunts muffled by the pounding bass from inside.

The man, red-faced and furious, roared about unfair treatment, about how his “pleasure was paid for.” One of the guards shoved him back, growling about tickets.

Tickets for sin. Tickets for pleasure.

“I’m not here for that". I called out, "but may I pass, still, I’m here for something important.”

One guard turned, scanning me head to toe. His lips twitched with amusement. “Lady, everyone who comes here thinks their needs are important.”

My patience, my pride, the last fragile threads keeping me composed, snapped.

“You don’t understand. My husband is inside there, and my s-sist—.” my voice shook.

That caught his attention.

“Interesting. But still, our rules are clear. No ticket, no entry.”

Screw the rules.

When the drunk man staggered forward again, creating a momentary distraction, I slipped past them. One of the guards shouted and chased but I didn’t stop.

The club was.... exotic by the way, expensive. Red and violet lights, silk curtains, and indulgent laughter. My fingers dug into my palm as I walked across rooms, searching for any occupied door with a 'stay out' sign on it.

I found one, and although I was about to pass it by because there was no sign. I heard Phillip. I froze outside, my hand hovering over the knob.

“God, I love you. I’d give you everything. Only you.”

The door creaked as I pushed it open an inch. The sight made my eyes and heart want to push out of their places.

I stood there frozen, watching the scene before me.

Freya, my sister, my blood, positioned herself, kneeling upright on the bed, her body moving with feral precision, strap-on glistening under the dim red lights. And beneath her, Phillip, the man I had called husband for three years, writhing, clutching her hips like she was his salvation.

Tears slipped from my eyes before I could stop them, and my heart felt like it was being pierced over and over again.

It could’ve been anyone, his secretary, one of the maids. Anyone but her.

“I’m yours,” he groaned, eyes rolled back as her fingers jerked off his wiener, devotion dripping from every syllable of his.

“Only yours.”

Her hips snapped forward in hard thrusts as my husband, held apart his ass cheeks and begged for Freya to destroy his prostate.

My whole body trembled, vocal chords caught in confusion of whether to scream or skyte like a banshee. I suddenly forgot the basics of respiration.

Phillip...

Freya...

"God, let this be a nightmare. Please."

My little prayer came out louder than I expected and they heard me. Phillip’s head snapped toward me first. Then Freya’s. Their faces twisted from rapture to horror in less than a heartbeat.

“S-Sabrina.”

The sound of my name on his lips, on their lips, was the final dagger.

Before I could speak, heavy hands clamped down on my arms. The bodyguards had caught up to me.

“You need to leave. Even to get entertained, you need a ticket..”

His words barely registered over the roar in my ears.

“Let me go!” I screamed, thrashing, shouting, bellowing like a beast.

I glanced at Phillip, seething to rip out his c**k and feed it to the fishes in our f*****g pond!.

“Bastards! Both of you!”

Phillip scrambled upright, stammering something, his nakedness only amplifying my disgust. Freya’s face drained of color, her lips parted but no words coming out.

Spectators came out of their rooms, eager to know what the drama was about. And in the middle of it, my husband and my sister stood exposed, while I screamed their names like a woman possessed.