“Do you really believe that this little ‘heavy load’ in your belly will stop him?” my husband’s mistress asked me.
“Do you really believe that will stop him?!” a loud voice, full of contempt, said. Then came a laugh, bitter and mocking. It was her, my husband’s mistress. She entered the room, a smug smile on her lips, and approached the bed with icy confidence. Her gaze slid around the room and lingered on me, as if I were simply a backdrop on which she could freely amuse herself.
“Well, do you see what this has led to?” she laughed, a sarcastic tone lacing her voice. “Pregnancy, a husband who runs away, and all of it… You’re just a burden here, and I’ll have to endure the chaos you’ve left behind.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward before continuing, her disdainful expression still intact. “Do you really believe that little ‘heavy weight’ in your stomach will stop him? No, it’s just a chain. He’s finally free of you and everything you represent.”
She stood there, reveling in her own cruelty, her laughter echoing through the room like a painful aftershock. My heart is pounded, and every word of her attack hurts more than the last.
“Who dares call my daughter a burden?” I said to her with cold fury and the urge to hit her. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear this moment any longer, something changed. 😱
Suddenly the door opened and a deep voice sounded in the room, instantly establishing silence. 😱😱😱
The moment the door opened, everything seemed to stop. The mistress froze, her smile slowly fading as an imposing figure appeared in the doorway. It was him. My father. A man with a majestic build, a firm, determined gaze.
“You dare say this in front of my granddaughter?” His voice, deep and authoritative, broke the silence, instantly bringing respect. He approached slowly, his eyes fixed on his mistress with icy anger.
She tried to back away, but he was looking at her so intensely that she couldn’t do anything but remain silent. The weight of his words seemed strong enough to force her to retreat.
“She’s not a burden,” he said, his voice sharp as a knife. “And you’re just a mistake I’m going to correct.”
My heart was beating fast, but a strange feeling of relief washed over me. This was the first time I’d seen my father protect my daughter with such determination.
He turned to me and, without saying a word, came closer, hugging me softly.
“Let’s go home,” he whispered, his hands comforting me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
