The Love Of My Life.

We had been married for over 15 years, and he had never cheated on me as far as I knew. I was convinced that he wasn't the kind of man who would do such a thing, and I couldn't convince my mind to think otherwise. I had trusted him for those previous five years before we got married. We used to hold hands all of the time, laugh together, hug each other, and kiss each other.

The sex was also amazing.

He would come home at 6 P.M. every night and his tea would be waiting and the house would be clean. We had planned to have children, but I was having problems falling pregnant though the doctors had no idea why. Recently the sex had started to run dry because we were both upset and frustrated with it. I, in particular, was worried that he would go off me because I couldn't fall on; it was a worry that I carried around with me silently most days.

He had suddenly started coming home later over these last few months. 6 P.M. turned into 10 P.M. and that soon turned into midnight. Some nights I didn't see or hear him come in at all.

"Sorry darling, I got held back. You know how it is," he would tell me.

The truth is, I didn't know how it was anymore. I didn't know anything until that fateful day when the rumors started.

"He's seeing Isabelle behind your back," Jane, my best friend had told me over and over again.

I couldn't bring myself to believe her.

"Why would he do that after 15 years of marriage? It's totally absurd, and certainly not in his character," I told Jane.

I knew Jane well enough to know that she never tells lies, but this was a bit of a wide tale to tell, or so I thought.

I needed to know for sure; I felt sick to my stomach, and my mind wouldn't settle until I found out for certain. So; I planned to take a trip to Isabelle's on Thursday evening, at exactly the time I knew my husband finished work. I set off at 5P.M to make sure I got there before him.

I didn't tell anybody that I was turning up.

When I got there, I knocked for almost one hour before I got a reply. I could hear laughing and joking inside. I recognized the male voice to be that of my husband, but the curtains were shut so I couldn't confirm it.

That was a suspicious start anyway. Isabelle never closed her curtains, even when she was going to bed.

"No...Isabelle...Don't you dare!" A male called, followed by a female laugh.

I held my ear close to the door because my mind wanted to deny what I was hearing.

"I'll get you on the couch!" My husband replied.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

I was seething with uncontrollable rage.

How could he be such a fucking arsehole after all we had been through, and with her of all people?

I quickly left the house in tears and walked faster than I normally would. When I got home, I poured a glass of water but I was shaking so much that I threw it up.

I was horrified.

I didn't bother cooking tea, and I slept in a different room that night. My husband obviously didn't come home because he didn't even try to find me, and when I checked his room the next morning, the bed was untouched.

It was obvious that he had slept at hers all night.

I broke down, then I found this note on the kitchen table:

Dear Isabelle,

Thank you for a great night. I hope that I didn't wear you out too much. I am over the moon with the fact that you are pregnant with my child. My wife can't have kids, so I'm glad that we made this arrangement. Maybe you'll marry me once my divorce comes through.

Love,

Ian.

I can't begin to describe the rage that was inside me after reading that letter. My blood was boiling and all I could think about was revenge. I didn't want revenge on Isabelle, her revenge would come in the aftermath.

I did, however, kick her door in and give her one big smack in the face. As for Ian; he deserved far worse than what I gave that stupid bitch.

I waited for him to come in.

"Hi, darling. How was your day?" I asked him sweetly while I poured him a cup of Coffee.

"Fine. How was yours?" He replied.

None of the usual I love you or kisses. He had about as much emotion as a pig in a pig farm!

I waited for him to leave the kitchen, and while he was on the toilet. I poured about half a bottle of bleach into his coffee. While he was spluttering and clutching his throat, rolling on the floor with his knees curled up; I sliced his balls with a knife, then I slit his throat.

I felt no guilt or sorrow for what I had done, only relief.

I walked out of the house, leaving him on the floor writhing as he died, then I left the country to start a new life where nobody could find me.

The police conducted all their investigations but they put it down to suicide. I had assumed a new identity in another country anyway, and I changed my gender secretly which made it impossible for them to catch me.

Isabelle never found out what really happened. Even though she was carrying his child, I could never brutally hurt her or the baby.

After all, it wasn't the baby's fault, and in truthfulness; it wasn't her fault that Ian couldn't keep his legs shut.

Call me what you want, but Ian got what he deserved.

Why the hell should he be a father to someone else's child, while I have to suffer childless?

I never got caught, and I went on to adopt two sweet boys after changing my entire identity. I love them to bits.

Isabelle is bringing up Ian's child with a different man, and she has told that man he is dad. She'll never tell the child the truth, and for the child's sake, I wouldn't want her to either.