The Woman In Red

Lila blinked, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. Jerica had never spoken to her like that before, and the sudden shift in the air made the room feel thick with tension.

Jerica, realizing her outburst, let out a slow, frustrated breath and pressed her fingers against her temples. Guilt gnawed at her. Lila just sat there, stunned, her lips parted in shock but unable to form a response.

"I'm sorry…" Jerica mumbled, her voice soft but laced with regret. Lila had been nothing but kind, always listening, always offering a laugh when Jerica needed it. She didn't deserve to be snapped at like that. But the anger simmering inside Jerica had finally spilled over. And Lila didn't know. She didn't know how drastically Jerica's life had changed behind closed doors.

And, if she were honest, Jerica had been the one who used to boast to Lila about being "f*cked senseless" by her husband, bragging about the passionate nights they shared. Lila wasn't aware of how those fiery moments had become cold silences.

"Can I be honest with you, Lila?" Jerica asked, trying to regain her composure, though her shame still clung to her words. "If I had to guess, Harold's committed. He's not the type to…" Jerica trailed off, biting back the rest of her thought. She didn't want to hurt Lila more than she already had.

Lila furrowed her brows, her confusion evident. "Committed? To who?" The curiosity in her voice masked a hint of hesitation, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Jerica paused, choosing her words carefully. Harold was loyal when he was in a relationship—at least, that's how she remembered him. But when he was single… let's just say he wasn't shy about his desires. If he hadn't already made a move on Lila, it was because he was seeing someone. Harold didn't pass up opportunities if they presented themselves.

"I'll ask him," Jerica said, her tone more resigned now. "Then we'll know for sure."

Lila's eyes brightened with hope, as if Jerica had just handed her the key to unlocking Harold's heart. "Really? Did you change your mind?" she asked, her voice filled with a renewed energy.

"I'm sorry," Jerica said again, standing up. "I've got a terrible headache, and I just can't stay here another half hour." Her body ached with exhaustion, her mind swirling with too many thoughts.

"Oh, okay… Take care of yourself. Take something for the headache," Lila said, patting Jerica's arm with a concerned expression.

Jerica forced a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. As she walked out of the office, she didn't even want to think about going home. The idea of sitting alone in that quiet house felt unbearable, but she had nowhere else to go.

As she descended the steps, she noticed an older man walking into the building—the same one she'd seen earlier in the week. There was something familiar about him, a nagging feeling that tugged at the corners of her mind, but she couldn't place it.

Shaking off the unease, she stepped outside, and the warm summer air hit her like a wave. The city buzzed with life at this hour, the streets bustling with people heading home or out to meet friends. Cars honked impatiently, pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, and the smell of hot asphalt mixed with food truck aromas filled the air.

Jerica's eyes wandered over to the parking lot, where her gaze landed on her husband's car. She froze, narrowing her eyes. He wasn't wearing his glasses, which was odd—he always wore them while driving. What was even stranger was that he was leaving before his workday was officially over.

A thought sparked in her mind: What if I follow him?

Her heart raced as curiosity got the better of her. Where did he go after work? She knew he wasn't heading home, not at this hour, not with everything that had been happening between them. She had to know.

Her feet moved before she could talk herself out of it, descending the stairs quickly. But just as she reached the sidewalk, his car pulled over at the bus stop at the intersection. Jerica squinted, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched.

A woman, dressed in a skintight red bodycon dress and holding a designer bag, strutted toward the car. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, catching in the light breeze, and she casually adjusted her oversized sunglasses before sliding into the passenger seat beside Jerica's husband.

And then, without hesitation, the car sped off.

Jerica's stomach dropped, her hands trembling as if she'd been physically struck. She couldn't breathe. The scene replayed in her mind on a loop: her husband, leaving work early, picking up a woman—a stunning woman—on a Friday evening.

Was this a one-time thing? Jerica's mind spiraled. Or had this been happening for weeks? Months?

That woman's smile, her confident walk, the way she settled into the seat like she belonged there—it all felt like too much. Jerica stood frozen, her world crashing down around her in slow motion.