Page 69 of I see you Beauty

But you are gone. Back on your way to your husband, who doesn’t deserve you. You’ll lie in his bed even though we both know you belong in mine. Fuck, Beauty! I can’t take this anymore! You belong to me! Because if you can’t belong to me, then you shouldn’t belong to anyone!

I drop what I am holding in my hands because my thoughts are so dark that I scare myself from them. No, damn it! Not you! Nothing must ever happen to you! Especially not by my hands!

Gasping, I tug at my hair, struggling to contain the darkness that surges wildly within me, tearing open the old, once-sealed cracks with violent force. Roaring, I drop to my knees and pound the wet pavement with my fists. I want these images to stop spinning in my head. And yet, I can’t stop my hands from once again wrapping around this tender neck that I once loved so much and squeezing until she can’t breathe.

She should never have told me how sorry she was that she didn’t want me anymore. She was my first great love and didn’t want me as much as I wanted her. But she had to love me!

I swear I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted her to stop talking. I didn’t want her to say that she didn’t love me. Unfortunately, I silenced her for good because when I finally came to and let go of her neck, her eyes bulged out, her beautiful face was blue, and her elegant neck was fiery red. She was dead. I had taken her from me.

Roaring, I pound the earth like a madman—which I suppose I am—until my knuckles are bloody. But it doesn’t matter. I must get these images out of my head because it won’t happen to you. I won’t lose myself with you like I did with all the others before you. I promise you, Beauty. You won’t die by my hand because you’re different. You love me more than anyone has ever loved me. You love me…

Chapter Fifty

“Cora, you can’t go on like this! You can’t do what you want while we’re left behind!” my husband’s angry voice rings out from the receiver.

He’s calling me from his office because he was asleep when I got home last night.

“We? Who is ‘we,’ pray tell? And no one is left behind. I’ve just been out, Thomas,” I defend myself, feeling bad that I’m lying to my husband about my cheating.

But even though I know how wrong it is and how big my guilty conscience is, I can’t stay away from Ezra anymore. And I don’t want to. I’ve done everything for Thomas and our marriage for years, and he’s sabotaged it and worked against me. I’m tired of always doing what everyone expects of me while completely losing myself. So, I push the guilty conscience aside and don’t let it eat away at me.

“Cora, you’re hardly ever home. Our daughter is coming tonight. What’s she supposed to think when you’re out all day, and I’m sitting at home waiting for you?” he continues to rant.

I sigh.

“I’ll see you tonight, darling. We will spend a nice family evening with a delicious meal, an excellent wine, and our daughter. All right?” I agree because there’s no point arguing with him.

Thomas agrees, huffing, and we end the call.

Staying home for the weekend seems like the best way to keep the peace with my husband. I'm also looking forward to seeing June and hope she has finally decided what she wants to pursue in her studies. She needs to make something of her life, but I hope she chooses a path that truly fulfills her, rather than just one that promises a lucrative future.

I want more for my daughter, perhaps because I was never able to fully pursue my own dreams. I spent my life doing what was expected of me and what was best for my family, putting my own desires aside. Society often pressures women to believe that their feelings and aspirations are secondary to their roles as wives and mothers, leading many to silence their own needs and opinions, even in the small moments that should be theirs.

That’s probably why I’m so attracted to Ezra. Not because he’s incredibly good-looking but because he sees me. As a woman. He doesn’t see the decent neighbor, wife, and mother but sees me. It feels good. So, can it be wrong if it makes me feel so good?

I know the answer, but I don’t want to admit it.

I start on the housework to ensure everything is ready by the time they get home. For dinner, I’m preparing lasagna, with a rich chocolate pudding for dessert and a fresh salad to complement the main course. I check my pantry and fridge to make sure I have all the ingredients I need before diving in.

Satisfied that I’m fully stocked, I begin preparing the Bolognese and béchamel sauces for the lasagna. Both need to simmer gently for a while, so I’ll let them cook on the stove while I head outside to tend to the garden once everything else is in order.

Sweat pours down my forehead and the back of my neck, and I tie my curls into a messy bun so they don’t hang in my face. It’s still incredibly hot, and yesterday’s little thunderstorm made the air even more humid.

After what feels like an eternity and a gallon of sweat, I finally admire my work—a leaf-free lawn—and start cleaning up my tools. Back inside, the sauces are simmering perfectly on low heat, filling the kitchen with an incredible aroma. The Bolognese sauce still needs a bit more time to reach its optimal flavor, so I taste it once more and add a splash of wine before covering the pot and letting it continue to cook.

Before I put the wine back in the fridge, I treat myself to a small sip straight from the bottle, as I’m alone now, and it’s too early for a whole glass.

“Gotcha,” I suddenly hear surprisingly close behind me, and I flinch so hard that I almost drop the bottle.

“My God, Ezra. Don’t scare me like that… What are you doing here?” I add when I’ve caught my breath.

With a shameless grin, he steps close, takes the bottle from my hand, and sets it beside me. He then gently presses me against the kitchen island and leans in slowly, his gaze fixed on mine.

“I’ve missed you, Beauty,” he murmurs in his rough voice before he kisses me longingly.

I briefly give in to his minor assault until I come back to my senses and push him off me as I shake my head.

“You can’t do that, Ezra. Not here. Besides, June and my husband will be home soon. We can’t… we can’t do this here,” I stutter, repeatedly looking over his shoulder. Not that either of them will surprise us right away.

---