Brian was mistaken.
I've always been the type to stick it out.
Back when I was chasing after him, I'd ride the subway across town without a hint of complaint.
When I decided to leave, I could pull an all-nighter without batting an eye.
I would go over the things he'd done to me, back and forth a thousand times, terrified of waking up, I would go a soft spot for him again.
It was merely at the break of dawn when Brian got out of bed and answered a phone call.
On the other line was Rosalind, as is always expected.
I got it—she intended Brian to swing by her place for breakfast on his way to work.
Brian dressed gingerly, whispering to phone, "Wait for me."
The door closed with a soft click.
I got out of my little daydream, taking the camera from the drawer quietly.
And in its entirety, I documented everything that happened the day before
To remind myself that I had to get out of there.
In the course of going through the footage, I stumbled upon old recordings.
It turned out, this wasn't the first time I'd caught Brian being unfaithful.
On my birthday, Brian had accompanied Rosalind to the OB-GYN; there was folic acid on the receipt, along with a prenatal report.
Then on our anniversary, I found a reservation for a five-star hotel and two tickets to a private screening of Fated To Love You in Brian's car.
That same day, in front of the camera with teary eyes, I said, "I'm pregnant, but I don't want to tell Brian."
I hit pause on the video to let the scene froze, clutching the ultrasound slip, lost in a reverie that appeared to stretch on eternity.
Yet in the chill of last night, Brian, in an attempt to appease Rosalind, turned a blind eye as she pressed drinks upon me, which felt like a chisel being driven into my heart, with the pain radiating, turning into an excruciating ache.
It straightaway sent shivers down my spine.
All of that right sudden, an overpowering impulse to make things clear with Brian surged through me, urgency compelling me to confront him without delay of any second.
Gone off my rocker, I galloped to the company office.
The moment I pushed open his office door, the stifled sobs of Rosalind echoed from inside.
"I regret it, Brian."
Brian said, "Shirley's still not well."
"I know, but... I can't take it anymore, the one I love is right in front of me, but I can only bite my tongue..."
"Enough!"
The chill of Brian's sudden outburst startled me. "Rosalind," he bit out, "do not ever voice such words in the face of me!"
The secretary rushed over to stop me, "Miss Mcgee, Mr. Maxwell is not available now in the middle of meeting a guest, please wait outside for a while."
"Alright."
I changed my mind, walked to the lobby with a mood of despondency.
I took out the top lipstick Brian had given me and randomly scribbled on the bulletin board.
A few minutes later, the secretary screeching ran over, hugging me tightly.
"Miss Mcgee, what are you doing?"
Pictures of Brian and Rosalind were conspicuously circled on it.
"They are homewrecker and cheater, what a pefect match!"
The lipstick snapped from my force of writing.
Scarcely had Rosalind stepped out the door when she took a notice of the scene.
Her face drained of color, she soon took out a tissue making an effort to erase it
Frantically.
"Shirley, what the hell do you want?" She snapped.
A smirk tugged at my lips, "How does it feel to be the other woman?"
The words 'other woman' were ground out between my teeth, my voice deliberately drawn out, laced with venom.