The Last Mistress's Wife

PAIGE

It is said that my husband has six mistresses. All from six different cities.

And the last one happens to be his favorite.

Everyone who lives in the city knows this. Wherever I go, I hear the whispers and feel the pitiful glances thrown at me.

The prominent women in the society stand by and mutter inaudible, mocking statements about my husband's infidelity.

Even the guards lower their eyes whenever he drives out at night, pretending not to have an idea of where he is going.

At the beginning, I try to endure, hoping that, maybe, just maybe, he would come back to me one day.

But then it goes from the first to the second, the third, and currently, the sixth mistress, all for a son.

He always wanted a male child. An heir apparent to his mega businesses.

However, my first two kids turn out to be daughters. And ever since then, Richard saw me as a misfortune, a bad wife, and a mistake that shouldn't have happened.

“A man with no son leaves no legacy.” He would say with a forced smile that doesn't reach his eyes, while I lock myself in and weep my eyes out.

But on this day, I am standing at the balcony, watching as Richard's black car zooms out of the gates like other times.

He doesn't bother telling where he is heading. He just climbs in and drives out.

Even so, he doesn't have to inform me, for I already know. I sigh and watch the security men lock back the gates.

“My lady, you should rest. It's not good for you to be standing like this. It is late at night.”

A soft voice speaks behind me.

It is Martha, my oldest maid. At least, she is the only person in the house who gazes upon me with real concern and love.

She's been here since our wedding day and has seen how my joyful moments in the early times of our marriage faded into sadness and hatred.

Plastering a fake smile, I turn to her. “I'll sleep soon, Matha.”

She frowns, coming to tap my shoulder like I'm a little child. “Don't stay up looking and thinking, dear. It is better you look after yourself first.”

It is better I look myself first.

Her words ring in my memory, and I nod subconsciously.

“True. I needed this encouragement. I need to sleep. Have you laid the kids in bed?” I yawn, following right behind her.

“Yes, My Lady. I have done so.” Martha replies and leads me up to the doorstep of my bedroom.

Ever since Richard realized I will not be producing an heir anytime soon, he sent me packing right from our matrimonial space into one of the rooms on the second floor.

That spot became the place for our future irregular sexual intercourse.

Something that would later be referred to as a ‘once in a blue moon’ event.

He even goes further to pick a