The Fake Mistress (English)

Chapter 3

Kathryn

I was jolted awake by a faint rustling sound, as if whispers were dancing in the air. My eyes slowly opened, and I peered through the gap in the curtains to catch a glimpse outside, dimly illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. I checked the clock on the side table; it was only three in the morning. I reached out, expecting to find Joaquin by my side, but my hand met an empty space instead. A frown creased my forehead as I realized he was not there.

Curiosity and concern filled me as I followed the sound of the whisper. It seemed to be coming from the bathroom, where a soft glow peeked through the partially closed door.

Had Joaquin decided to take a late-night stroll to the bathroom?

As I stepped closer, the whispers grew more distinct, and my heart skipped a beat. His voice sounded sharp and irritated, as if he were arguing with someone, but I couldn't make out the other person's responses.

"Go ahead, try it, and I will surely break that beautiful neck of yours!" Joaquin's voice echoed sternly, making me shudder with a mix of surprise and unease. When had he become so intense in conversations? And who could have triggered such fury?

As I strained to listen, I caught another fragment of his words, softer this time but filled with anxiety. "I've already told you, didn’t I? I told you to get rid of it! I said, I don't want it! Why are you so stubborn? Why do you keep insisting? Didn't I say it's not allowed? Can't you understand that? My wife can't know about this!"

My mind raced with questions, but I dared not interrupt the clandestine conversation. Why was Joaquin so adamant about keeping this hidden from me? Who was he talking to, and what on earth were they discussing at this ungodly hour?

The urge to confront him battled with the fear of invading his privacy, but before I could decide, the bathroom door swung open. Panic gripped me, and I stepped back, hoping he hadn't noticed me eavesdropping. Our eyes locked in surprise, and then a smile tugged at the corner of Joaquin's lips, though I could see the lingering flicker of concern in his eyes.

"I’m going to pee'," I told him. I don't know why that came out of my mouth instead of asking who he was talking to earlier. I also noticed how he discreetly hid his cellphone behind his back, probably thinking I didn't see it.

"Okay, hurry up, Love," he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek before heading to bed. I glanced back at him briefly before entering the bathroom. He was lying down and raising one arm to his forehead.

I faced the sink to wash my face. I can't explain this feeling I have. It's like anxious uncertainty. I washed my face again to wake myself up. Maybe I'm just feeling this way because I'm still sleepy, and that's why I'm thinking and feeling all sorts of things. But even after washing my face several times, the heavy feeling in my chest doesn't go away.

I rested my hands on the sides of the sink and looked at myself in the mirror, then let out a heavy sigh. I feel so burdened.

"You're not cheating on me, Joaquin, right? You're not keeping anything from me, hmm?" I asked myself while looking in the mirror. I shook my head and reached for the face towel hanging on the side. I dried my face and stared at my reflection again.

Why am I thinking negatively about my husband? He loves me, so he wouldn't do anything that could hurt me. He would never do what I suspected. He loves me deeply, even accepting the fact that we might not have children.

I sighed again and composed myself. I turned the doorknob and left the bathroom. He was still in the same position as earlier, with his arm raised to his forehead. He seemed troubled.

I carefully climbed onto the bed, so as not to wake him up, and lay on my side, turning away from him. I don't know, but even if I try to convince myself to ignore what I hear, my intuition tells me otherwise.

Is this what they call a woman's instinct? Or am I just being overly suspicious? I don't want to be paranoid, but I can't help it.

He moved and suddenly wrapped his arm around my waist. He hugged me and buried his face in my neck. "I love you, Love," he whispered in my ear, pressing his face closer to my neck.

If I hadn't heard what he said earlier, I would have smiled at his words again. But for now, I just can't.

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. We both have a day off tomorrow. I'll try asking him who he was talking to. Maybe I'm just being overly anxious.

***

As I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the absence of Joaquin next to me. Instantly, curiosity took over, and I got out of bed, hoping to find him in the kitchen. Perhaps he was once again cooking us breakfast, just like he often did.

Running my fingers through my tousled hair, I stepped out of the bedroom. A serene silence enveloped the house, except for the faint scent of Joaquin's perfume lingering in the air. However, there was no sign of him, clad in his trademark pink apron, passionately preparing our morning meal. He was not in the living room, engrossed in his favorite NBA game, as he usually would be. It was rather peculiar. Where could he be? I glanced at the clock on the wall, and it displayed only six thirty in the morning.

Approaching the window, I peered outside, half-expecting to see him tending to his car. Yet his vehicle was nowhere in sight, and an unsettling feeling of worry crept into my chest.

As I clutched my chest, trying to quell the growing anxiety, it felt as if a heavy weight rested upon my heart. I took deep breaths, attempting to ease the burden, but it only seemed to intensify.

"Where did he go? It's our day off, right?" I muttered to myself.

What bothered me more was the fact that Joaquin hadn't even bothered to wake me up or mention anything about his plans the previous night.

Feeling a mix of frustration and concern, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. But all I heard on the other end was the repetitive voice of the operator saying, "The number you have dialed cannot be reached." His phone was off! I tried calling him again and again, but there was no response, leaving me on the verge of exasperation.

"Urgh! Joaquin, where on earth are you?" I exclaimed in a mixture of irritation and worry.

Attempting to calm myself down, I walked towards the refrigerator to get some cold water. However, before I opened the door, a small post-it note caught my eye: Good morning, beautiful! I'm sorry I didn't wake you up. You looked so peaceful sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb you. There's something important I need to attend to at the precinct. I'll be back soon, and we can spend the day together, okay? I love you, my beautiful wife!

P.S. I've prepared your breakfast and left it on the table.

—Joaquin

Reading his note, a mixture of relief and affection washed over me. He had left a heartfelt message explaining his absence. With a small smile, I walked towards the dining table and removed the cover he mentioned. There, before me, was a delightful breakfast spread, just the way he knew I liked it. The aroma of steamed hotdogs, scrambled eggs, garlic fried rice, and sautéed vegetables filled the room.

My heart warmed as I noticed the note—a personal touch in the midst of the delicious foods. Its message, "Enjoy your breakfast, Love. I love you!" brought a smile to my face.

Yet, despite the delightful display before me, an unshakable heaviness weighed on my heart. My mind churned with conflicting emotions, and I found myself unable to indulge in the scrumptious feast laid out on the table. There was something unsettling, almost eerie, about the air around me, as if it held the echoes of a haunting night.

Why is everything like this?

With a mix of hesitation and urgency, I hurriedly covered the food again and reached for my cellphone. My fingers trembled slightly as I dialed Michelle's number, hoping to find solace and advice in her comforting voice. However, as the phone rang at the other end without a response, my concern escalated, and I couldn't ignore the growing knot of anxiety in my chest.

As each unanswered call passed, my worries intensified. The seconds felt like hours, and my imagination ran wild with worst-case scenarios. I wonder what happened. Her phone just kept ringing, adding to the anxiety in my chest. The heaviness I felt earlier seemed to double.

Damn it! I hate feeling like this! Maybe something happened to her, and that's why she's not answering my call? I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to Michelle, and the possibility haunted my every thought.

Frustration mingled with concern, and I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. "Michelle, don't add to my problems, please! I might hurt you even if you're pregnant, you jerk!" I exclaimed.

‘What's wrong? Answer my call! Don't dare end your life, i***t! Tell me if you want to end it, and I'll be the one to strangle you’! I typed my message with a mix of anger and fear.

After what felt like an eternity, a notification tone broke the silence. My heart leaped in relief as I read her reply. "You i***t! I won't do that! Especially now that the man of my dreams is finally mine!"

The unexpected mention of the man of her dreams made my brow furrow with confusion, and my mind raced to make sense of her words. Was Greg back in the picture?

Determined to get answers, I typed another message, my fingers tapping anxiously against the screen. "Who is the man of your dreams that you're talking about?" I inquired, my heart pounding in my ears as I awaited her response.

Minutes passed like hours, but no reply came. My anxiety lingered, and I tried to shake it off as I shifted my attention to the mundane task of cleaning up. I knew that Joaquin would be coming home soon, but my mind was consumed by worry about Michelle, clouding my ability to focus..

Minutes passed like hours, but no reply came. My anxiety lingered, and I tried to shake it off as I shifted my attention to the mundane task of cleaning up. Joaquin will be coming home later; that's what he wrote in his post-it note.

I wiped the sweat off my neck and forehead. I looked at the clock, and it was already two o'clock. I didn't even notice how fast time flew with all the things I did. If my stomach hadn't grumbled, I wouldn't have stopped.

I washed my hands and grabbed a plate and spoon. I didn't bother reheating Joaquin's cooked food because I was hungry. I sat down and started eating, but I winced when I smelled the egg.

Wait, this was just cooked, right? How did it go bad quickly?



I smelled it again, and this time, my stomach completely turned upside down. I rushed to the bathroom to release whatever my stomach wanted to get rid of.

I leaned heavily against the sink, my trembling hands gripping its edge, trying to draw some strength from its cold, hard surface. I felt queasy, as if every ounce of my strength was draining away, yet all I managed to expel were weak splatters of water and saliva. Maybe it was the overwhelming hunger that made me feel this way.

After washing up, I stepped out of the bathroom, feeling the water droplets trickle down my skin. I gulped down water, my parched throat finally finding some relief. I placed the leftover food in the sink, promising myself I'd wash the dishes later. But fatigue hit me like a tidal wave, pulling me into its embrace. My eyelids weighed a ton, and I struggled to keep them open as drowsiness enveloped me.

* * *

I had slipped into a deep slumber almost instantly, the fatigue from the day weighing heavily on my eyelids. But suddenly, I jolted awake, a cold shiver running down my spine as I noticed the room immersed in darkness. Why hadn't Joaquin woken me up? A pang of worry surged through me as I questioned whether he had even arrived yet.

Rushing out of bed, I stumbled towards the door, my heart pounding in my chest. But the moment I stepped outside, the pitch-black night enveloped me, and an ominous silence filled the air. It left me trembling with uncertainty. Had Joaquin not made it home yet?

I swiftly flicked on the lights in the living room, hoping to find a sign of his presence, but the emptiness of the space only intensified my anxiety. There is no trace of Joaquin. Even the dinner plate I had used remained untouched in the sink, untouched since I last ate. If he had been here, he would have cleaned it up.

My gaze fixated on the clock as the seconds ticked away relentlessly. It was already nine o'clock, and Joaquin was still nowhere to be found.

The minutes dragged on, the night stretched like an eternity, and I found myself engulfed in a whirlpool of fear and uncertainty about Joaquin's whereabouts.

My voice quivered with concern as I whispered into the silence, "Where are you, Joaquin? You're worrying me so much."