I Became A Mistress

On Halloween night, I went to pick up my husband after he had been drinking.

As I reached the door, I heard someone inside asking about the wildest thing anyone had ever done.

In his drunken haze, my husband muttered, “I’ve been living a second life behind my wife’s back. After Halloween, I’ll end things with the other woman, go back home for good, and try to make it up to her.”

My heart sank, though I felt a small sense of relief that he was getting back on the right track.

He continued, “After all, our two kids are just three years old. This is when they need their dad the most.”

Everyone in the private room praised him for being responsible, saying that nothing was more precious than a reformed man.

I stood frozen in place, because we had agreed not to have children when we got married.

I was the “other woman”.

I could not bear to listen anymore. Having lost the courage to confront him, I turned and fled the club.

The cold wind struck my face, but it was nothing compared to the shock of realizing I was the mistress, and it was a blow as devastating as witnessing Tristan Clarke’s betrayal.

Raised in an orphanage and deprived of love, I had always longed for a home of my own. Yet, I came to realize that the small family I wanted had been built on the ruins of someone else’s home.

I went home in a daze and entered the bedroom. The guilt made me desperate to escape the very home I had once longed for.

As I hastily packed my things, I found a thick photo album that did not belong to me. My hands trembled as I opened it to the first page.

A family portrait stared back at me.

Tristan was holding a little boy, smiling tenderly and contentedly. Beside him stood a gentle-looking woman cradling a little girl, and her face flushed with happiness.

The lower right corner of the photograph showed a date from five years ago.

Only then did I understand. When I thought we were newly married and deeply in love, he already had a family with children.

I flipped through the pages one by one; each photo cut into my heart like a blade.

The family of four went to the beach, to amusement parks, and celebrated birthdays together…

All the times I had pleaded for, the moments he brushed off with excuses about work, he had given to another family.

I suddenly remembered something.

Every Halloween, he would stay out socializing until late and come home drunk. It must have been because he had to spend time with his wife and children first.

In the end, I was nothing more than the hidden, embarrassing secret he had to entertain.

Tears spilled down my face, falling onto the photo album and blooming into damp stains.

I slammed it shut, rushed into the walk-in closet, and stuffed my