We froze the moment we stepped into the room.
"Oh my gosh, mom."
"What the actual fuck?"
There he was, my stepdad, with his lips pressed against another woman. My mom's hand tightened on mine. I could feel her eyes burning daggers, but I was too stunned to speak.
"What… what is this?" my mom finally managed, her voice trembling with rage.
My stepdad turned, his face going pale. "Cristine… I..."
"No. Don't even," I snapped, my chest aching with a mix of shock, anger, and pain. "Who is she?"
The woman looked uncomfortable now, glancing between us and him. "I… I'm sorry," he said, stammering.
"Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it!" my mom shouted, her voice echoing across the room. "How long has this been going on? Huh?!"
My stepdad tried to step forward, but I stepped in front of my mom without even thinking. "Don't. Just… don't."
The air was thick. I felt my heart pounding so loud it could drown out anything anyone said. Betrayal, disbelief, anger, all tangled together.
For a second, the woman just stood there, looking guilty but also defiant, like she wasn't going anywhere.
My stepdad opened his mouth again, but I didn't let him. I stormed past him, grabbing my bag. My mom followed, still fuming, muttering under her breath.
I got into my room and loudly banged the door. I didn't know if I wanted to scream, cry, or throw something. All I knew was… nothing would ever feel normal again.
How could he?
With that kind of basic woman?
I couldn't comprehend what I just saw. I paced back and forth across my room, trying to calm myself down, but my chest was tight, my hands shaking. Every muscle in my body was tense, screaming. I wanted to smash something, my bed, my desk, anything, to make the anger stop burning inside me.
I was boiling hot from all the anger. I just wanted to beat up the lady. My hands clenched into fists as I stared out through the window blinds. The woman was leaving our house with a deviant smile on her face. I could barely breathe.
I wanted to run after her, shake her, spit fire in her face. She wasn't just another person, she was a thief who stole my trust, my home, my family, and him. Every step she took made my blood boil. I imagined grabbing her hair, shaking her, yelling at her until her smug smile disappeared forever.
I was still watching when I heard a knock on my door. It better not be him.
"Bea, please, can we talk? Please, just let me explain."
"Just get out. I do not want to speak to you ever again. You disgust the fuck out of me."
"Bea… please."
His voice sounded broken, pained. Usually, I would have given in, but definitely not this time. How could he do that to me?
I didn't respond. I just stared at the door with disgust. I hated everything about him. I was heartbroken in a way I had never felt before. My chest felt heavy, and I could feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I hated that he made me feel this weak, this small, when I had trusted him so completely.
After a long period of silence, he finally gave up, and I heard his steps retreat from my door.
I could hear my mom coming out of her room to confront him. Her shouting echoed downstairs, raw and sharp, laced with betrayal. I wanted to run down there, scream at him alongside her, make him feel the shame, the disgust, the heartbreak, but my brain was in a haze.
I listened as his baseless excuses tumbled from his lips, and I became even more disgusted with him. Every word he said sounded hollow. Every gesture he made was just a weak attempt at saving himself.
I sank onto my bed, gripping the pillow so hard my knuckles turned white. My chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing it. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to make him feel a fraction of the pain he just caused me.
He didn't know how hurt he had made me feel.
My mom kept screaming, her voice cracking with fury and despair. He was trying to explain himself, to justify what he did, but I needed out. I needed space. I couldn't deal with all of it. My hands shook as I buried my face in my pillow.
After a long, chaotic argument, my mom finally stormed out of the house, muttering curses under her breath when she realized shouting wasn't going to get them anywhere.🙄
I just laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, reminiscing about what I had seen. I could never unsee it, and I hated him for it. I remembered all the times he had laughed with me, teased me, acted like he cared. Every memory now felt like a lie.
My stepdad knocked again. "Bea… please. Let me explain."
I wanted to throw the bag at the door. "Don't. Just leave me alone. You're dead to me."
His voice cracked. "I… I never meant..."
He was breaking down at my door, his voice trembling. I slammed my eyes shut, breathing heavily. He didn't understand. He would never understand.
I curled up on the bed, my knees to my chest, and let the tears slide freely. My hands shook. My throat burned. I imagined confronting the woman, calling her every name I knew, shaking her until she begged for mercy.
The room felt smaller than ever, walls closing in. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the streetlights outside. I clenched my fists, pressed my face into the pillow, wishing I could disappear.
I didn't step out of my room. I didn't eat. I didn't move. But I made a silent vow: this wasn't over. One way or another, he would pay for what he did. And that woman… she had no idea what was coming.
I could feel my anger simmering, mixing with sadness, making me twitchy and restless. I thought about every time he'd laughed, every time he'd acted like he cared, and the betrayal stung sharper than I could describe.
I buried my face in my pillow again, letting silent tears fall, my body shaking with fury. He will never understand what he just did to me.