Hot Pursuit

My breathing is shallow. I hear the blood rushing to my ears. The beating of my heart is excruciatingly loud. Twenty years down the drain. Twenty years of promises not kept. Can’t say that I didn’t expect it, but this? This absolutely shatters my heart.

I feel the cold metal of the small device in my hands and blink, thinking it must be wrong. I must be seeing things. Drops of water hit the screen, and I realize tears are now spilling down my face. Twenty damn years wasted.

When I opened my text messages to see it was a pic from my best friend, I didn’t think anything of it. This wasn’t anything new. She sends me selfies all the time. But this pic wasn’t supposed to be sent to me, and I don’t think she’s realized it yet.

No, it isn’t the pic of her naked and bent over showing everything she has to offer that has me torn up. It’s the message.

Any other time, it wouldn’t bother me who her trysts were. Men for her were a dime a dozen. This time, though, her tryst, Miles, is my husband. And not only is he my husband, but he told me before I left for work this morning that he was working a double at the hospital and wouldn’t be home tonight.

Now you understand my reaction. I call Miles.

“Hey, Miles. I was just making sure you’re working tonight.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m the doctor on call. Sorry, Rayne”—he always called me that—“I won’t be home. I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart.”

“All right, be safe.”

“Always am, love you.”

“I bet you do. Bye.”

I’m still standing inside my office, where I currently work as a paralegal to the best criminal and family attorneys in the state of New York. There’s a huge case coming up, and it’s all hands on deck, or, at least, it was until now because shortly after the call, my boss comes in and sees me in all my snotty glory.

“Rayna, my goodness, what’s wrong?! Are you okay?”

I just shake my head and drop my phone on my desk. “Not one bit.”

One good way to get out of work? Bust out crying on your boss’s shoulder. The same boss who hates the fact that women have feelings. Not only that, spill everything about the affair you just found out your significant other is having with your best friend. The same best friend you’ve had since you were eight years old.

He immediately shoved me out the door and told me to take a couple of days off. But not before giving me some “free” advice. So, instead of wallowing in self-pity, I suck it up and go about my plan. You don’t work around cutthroat lawyers and not learn a few things.

And now I’m angry.

First and foremost, as soon as I make it home, I grab my suitcases. By the time I’m finished, almost everything for me and our son, Logan, is packed into my SUV. I take a look at all the memories around the house, including the pictures of Miles and me in high school. We were sweethearts and stayed together through college.

The hardest time for us was when he was in medical school, focused on his studies, and I was trying to finish college online, take care of a baby, and work at the same time.

Our son, Logan, will be devastated. I had him four years after Miles and I eloped when I was nineteen. Logan looks up to his father, and I don’t want to be the one who tells him why our marriage ended. He’s only sixteen, and he has so much going on in his life as it is. After finishing up his sophomore year in high school, he’s spending the summer at an extended football camp.

I take a picture of all three of us when Logan was born and smash it on the floor. I watch as the glass shatters but stays in place, almost a direct representation of my heart. Then, walking into Miles’s office, I pick up the picture he keeps on his desk of him and me. It’s one we took when we had just eloped. I crack the glass against his desk, denting the polished mahogany surface, then shove the frame in my bag.

He keeps the spare key to his car in a drawer in the kitchen. I’ll need it for what I’m about to do next. I want him to hurt like I hurt. Starting up my car, I make my way to my best friend’s house. I park just down the street behind a huge van. Of course, his car is already parked in her driveway, and all the lights are off except one, her bedroom light.

I make sure my phone is on silent and the flash is off on the camera. Walking around to the back of the house, I use the spare key she gave me to unlock the door, listening for any movement. It’s quiet, too quiet. I move down to her bedroom and that’s when I hear it.

It’s the moaning of ecstasy. She’s screaming my husband’s name. My stomach turns and I almost vomit. The sound of the bed hitting the wall almost does me in. It’s banging the wall so hard, neither one of them hears me open the door.

My hand flies over my mouth at the sight of his hands on her, plowing into her from behind. The scene is now burned into my brain. I quickly grab my phone and take the pictures I need for future proof and barely make it outside before everything I had for lunch comes back up on her prized roses.

Silently, I walk over to his car and unlock it. I pull out the broken picture of us and lay it on the driver’s seat. Then, tugging off my wedding rings, I set those on top.

Making it back to my car, I hit the alarm button on his spare. I watch as the lights flash and listen as the horn blares. As soon as the outside lights come on at the house, I duck behind the van, stealing glances to watch what happens.

Miles hurriedly dashes out of the house, the pink silk robe he’s wearing flowing behind him, and quickly opens his car door. He picks up the picture and my rings. Standing there, he looks up and down the street in search of me. With no success, he yells before slamming the car door and running back to the house.

I hop in my car and start the ignition. Let’s hope his decisions were worth it. The only thing about life and the people in it you can count on is that eventually, the trash takes itself out.