Betrayal in the Heart
In the quiet market town of Shrewsbury, where life moved at a gentle pace and gossip spread like wildfire, I, Abigail, prided myself on being the perfect wife. My husband, Edward, I loved without reservation, trusting him as I trusted myself. Never did I search for stray hairs on his coat, nor rifle through his phone, nor torment him with suspicions. Until that fateful day, when everything was turned upside down.
That morning, I went to the local bank to order a new card. Taking a numbered ticket, I settled onto a worn bench in the waiting area. Nearby, two women in their late thirties chatted animatedly. Their voices, thick with emotion, carried through the room, and without meaning to, I became an unwilling listener. One of them, voice trembling, recounted catching her husband in an affair. The other murmured agreement, but beneath her sympathy ran a thread of spite, as if she thought, *”Serves you right!”*
The tale was dreadful. The cheating husband had returned home acting strangely—eyes fever-bright, a button missing from his shirt, as though ripped off in passion. While he showered, the woman, gnawed by suspicion, snatched his phone. There, she found messages and calls from a mistress. The man didn’t deny it. *”Yes, I love another,”* he admitted. *”I pity you.”* *”Ten years I gave him!”* the woman wailed, her voice cracking with grief.
When my number flashed on the screen, I hurried to the counter, but the strangers’ words stuck in my mind like a splinter. I had just turned forty, and in a month’s time, Edward and I were to celebrate our eleventh wedding anniversary. All day, the story haunted me, and by evening, unease twisted in my gut, dark thoughts crowding my mind. I braced for battle.
Edward came home late, face drawn, eyes weary. *”Exhausted,”* he muttered, heading straight for the shower. I stood frozen, staring at his phone on the table. Never before had I dared to breach his privacy, but the woman’s words from the bank echoed in my ears. My hands shook; shame warred with curiosity, yet I gave in. I snatched the phone and scrolled.
And there it was—the knife to my heart. Dozens of messages from someone named *”The Queen.”* This brazen woman wrote to Edward more often than the bank sent payment reminders. Too afraid to read them, I checked the call logs—they rang each other constantly. My world shattered. Light drained from my eyes; my chest squeezed as though my heart had been torn out and dashed to the floor. I felt sick with pain. *”Ten years… How could he?”* My temples throbbed. Perhaps I ought to drown my sorrows?
I set the phone back gently, as if handling a viper. Edward emerged—damp-haired, towel around his waist, blissfully unaware of the storm inside me. He took one look at my face and understood—eleven years together left little hidden. He nodded silently, as if asking, *”What’s wrong?”*
I blurted out, barely stifling tears:
*”Who is ‘The Queen,’ and why does she live in your phone?”*
Edward froze, staring at me as though I’d grown a second head. The air hung heavy, thick as before a storm. At last, he exhaled:
*”That’s all?”*
*”I expected better of you,”* I choked out, voice quivering with hurt. *”Ten years… I thought we were happy!”*
Pain pulsed in my temples; my heart splintered. Silently, Edward walked to the dresser, picked up his phone, and dialled. I shut my eyes, certain he was calling *her* to say, *”We’re caught.”* But then my own phone rang. I opened my eyes. Edward held his screen to my face—*”The Queen”* glowed on the display. Yet our surname wasn’t royal!
He gazed at me with a faint smile, patient as a schoolmaster with a wayward pupil. And then it struck me. In the early days of our marriage, Edward had jokingly called me *”his Queen Abigail.”* My name, Abigail, carried no royal weight—yet he’d playfully crowned me. How had I forgotten?
Shame washed over me, cheeks burning. Edward, still smiling, murmured:
*”Abby, you’ve always been my only queen. Always will be.”*
I collapsed into his arms, laughter and tears mingling. The pain faded, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and sweet relief. But deep down, I knew—this day I would never forget.