When Good People are Forced into Doing Really Bad Things!

 

Excerpt From PAYBACK

"To keep the peace, I did everything an abused woman does – I ensured our mansion was covered in eggshells, tiptoed around Tom, said the right things, did the right things, wore the right things – anything to keep him from exploding.
It took its toll on me. Day by day, I became really unsure of myself, had an opinion about nothing (because I was a nothing – Tom had repeatedly told me that), and existed under a cloak of shame. Shame that I was the kind of woman who allowed a man to abuse me, then keep his dirty secret from our friends and from the world. Shame that I wasn’t strong enough to tell on him, call the cops, lock him up.

My self-confidence … well, I was fat, unattractive, stupid, and worthless – Tom had repeatedly told me that too, drilled it into my ‘thick’ head, remember? I believed him. 

Yet, at times, I would look in the mirror and ask, “Who are you? What happened to that bubbly girl named Arena? The once who loved to dance and laugh out loud?” I never got an answer from the stranger in the mirror.

As for sex – I hated it. If I never had sex again in my whole life, I would be the happiest woman alive, I concluded. Just about every woman I knew would hate it if their husband had an affair, a mistress. Not me. I prayed that he’d find someone, have a torrid sexual affair so that he could leave me alone. 

Yet, even though it was easier to stay with Tom and keep up the charade, allow myself to get used to the abuse, suck it up, I often thought about leaving him. I just couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. 

I realized that if he divorced me, he would have to give me half of everything. Then I remembered the prenup I had signed. My husband was a millionaire, but I would see not a penny of his money. He would make sure of that.  

My future seemed grey, cloudy, and those feelings of hopelessness compounded and sapped away all my energy. 

Then, one day, while I was cooking, Warren was nearby watching a television commercial for pasta. In the commercial, the father arrives home and says, “Imma home!” His three children rush to jump into the father’s arms. The wife follows. Group hug. A happy, sappy family, thanks to pasta.  

“Mom,” Warren said, his eyes fixed on the television.

“Yes, honey?” 

“Do daddies really hug their children like that?” 

I stopped what I was doing and looked at my son. Tom had never hugged Warren. In fact, he barely acknowledged our son, and when he did talk to him, it was to scold him about something or berate him for being too soft, a sissy. It was as if he despised our son.

“Look…” Warren pointed at the television.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched my son rewind the commercial and watch the children dived into their father’s arms. “See that, mom? See that?” 

It was the saddest moment of my life. I scooped up my son and held him tightly to my breast as fat tears rolled down my cheeks and spilled onto his little head. That was the moment that broke me. That was also the moment that I decided, come what may, I was going to leave Tom. He did not deserve me or Warren. 

It may have been the saddest moment in my life, but once I made a decision to leave Tom, I felt so much relief, that it also became the most energizing moment in my life. 

I was going to leave Tom and be free. Free! What a delightful word. With my son in my arms, I whirled around the room, laughing.

“Mom … ?”
“We’re free, Warren!” I said, speaking in the present tense. “We’re free, baby!”

He tilted his head at me, almost as if he understood what I was saying.
“Promise?”
I gave a giant nod. “Promise!”
He gave me such a beautiful smile, I stopped whirling around to deal with a fresh batch of scalding tears.

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Money – I would need money to escape. Cash to be more specific. Cash would be vital for our survival, especially in the first few days of my leaving him, I knew that much. But, where do I get the money from? That was a problem. I wasn’t gainfully employed, Tom did not allow me to have cash, just credit cards, which he monitored. Yes, ‘allow’ is the word. Tom had engineered my life in such a way, that I was totally reliant on him. Totally – I couldn’t make a move without him finding out.
So, after many hours of racking my brain, desperate as it was, I came up with a plan. I would siphon money from housekeeping – my grocery bill. That was the only plan I could come up with. Luckily, Tom never questioned my spending when it came to purchasing stuff for our home, so it was an avenue. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I could pull it off.  
However, I would have to be careful though, because Tom lived in a state of paranoia when it came to me. I do believe that he expected me to leave him someday and that terrified him. Hence the monitoring. Also, he was smart, shrewd and could smell a rodent a mile away.  
Through some creative moves, over the months, I managed to siphon quite a bit of money. I bought stuff I didn’t need, returned them to the store for a cash exchange, different stores to avoid suspicion, then put the money in my ‘Freedom Jar’. Each time I looked at it, excitement bubbled inside of me. My freedom was within reach. Our freedom was within reach. With each day, hope sparkled inside of me and my once trampled spirits began to climb like Jack’s beanstalk. Soon!

Of course, it was imperative that Tom not discover my stash – that would be an absolute disaster. So, I hid my Freedom jar in Warren’s bedroom, under a mountain of stuffed toys, because Tom had seldom entered Warren’s bedroom.   
My calculations told me that my jar contained more than ten thousand dollars, which was enough to tide me over the first couple of months after leaving Tom, while I made more permanent plans, and sought financial assistance from the government. Remember, the government would only assist me and my son after I left Tom. Every time I looked at my Freedom jar, I felt like singing. I would smile, kiss the jar, and perform a little jig to my son’s delight.  
Quietly, I went on to make enquiries about places to rent. They were nothing like the mansion that I lived in, but I did not care – I was prepared to live in a stable if it meant freedom from my abuser. I shortlisted a couple of places, then applied for a few. Everything was falling into place and my freedom – I could smell it! It smelt like summer rain.
Soon!
Then, one day, I returned home from shopping to find tom seated at the dining table, the money from my Freedom jar spread out in front of him.  

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My knees started to buckle, beads of sweat formed on my forehead and I tasted my breakfast again.  
How?
He would have had to have really searched to have found the jar. Why? Why did he feel the need to search? What tipped him off? Me? My actions? My behavior?
Maybe that sparkle wasn’t only inside of me, maybe it was also in my eyes? How could I have allowed that to happen?
“What is this?” His tone of voice was low, measured, the kind that usually preceded a balled fist.

Despite my horror, I was ready for him, having rehearsed my answer to that question time and time again in front of the mirror. How could I not anticipate such an encounter, such a question? I had my answer ready.
What I hadn’t counted on, was the terror I would feel when that loaded question was posed to me. Neither did my voice; it just gave me away.  “I … j…j…just teach …ing Warren how to s…s…save mon …ey.” Trying to sound casual with a strangled voice was an epic fail.
Tom stared at me. Just stared without a word.
I began to move around the kitchen, putting groceries away – anything to avoid those eyes, now slits, following my every move.
He began to tap impatiently at the table with his fingernails, his taps growing louder and menacing, causing my shoulders to rise up to my ears.
“There’s over eleven thousand dollars here.”
I stopped what I was doing, forced myself to turn around and meet his eyes. “Huh?”
“I counted.”

He counted. Deep breaths! Deep breaths!

“W … wah … well …” I cleared my throat several times, feeling like I had swallowed chalk. “I told Warren that if we … we save over ten thousand dollars, and if he did … didn’t nag me for t …toys all the time, we would surprise Daddy and b…buy tickets to Disneyland.” There! I got it all out. What a dumb reason for hiding a jar from my husband. Still, it was a response.
I rewarded myself with a glass of thrice-filtered water.  
Tom pushed back his chair, jerked to his feet, strode purposefully up to me, stood right in front of me and stared down at me.   
Deep … breaths. Deep …

He eventually reached for the glass, took it out of my hand and placed it on the table. After which, he grabbed a handful of my hair, wound it slowly around his fingers, pulled me close, so close, his breath fanned my face. My heartbeat gonged in my ears, and I was certain he could hear it.  
The corners of his lips curled ever so slightly. “Disneyland or … you … planning to run off?”
“W … wha …?”

Using his free hand, and with his eyes boring into mine, he walked two fingers in the air, taunting, toying.  
I blinked rapidly, as I braced for that slap, that backhand, or to be slammed into something. You know, the usual.  

For a few moments, his eyes roamed all over my crimson face, his lips still curled at the corners, as if he was enjoying the sound of my thundering heartbeat, having immense fun pulling off the wings of a butterfly.   
Then suddenly, to my surprise, he released me and stepped back. I stood frozen, unable to move. What now?
He walked over to the table, scooped all the money into the jar, along with my hopes, my dreams of freedom. “I’ll put it in the bank,” he muttered, “It’s safer there. ‘Sides, it’s not enough for first-class tickets.”

What could I say? What could I do? All months of planning, all my hopes and dreams crushed. I had told my son that we were free. Spoke to him in the present tense, promised him in the present tense, remember?
I had misled him, promised him something I had no business promising. I was such a failure. Useless.
I wanted to cry. Sob, fall to the floor and howl like a disappointed, deranged woman.
I didn’t. Tears were a luxury for the free. I wasn’t free. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage.  
You know that scene in The Lion King, where Scar rules Pride Rock, which is overrun by hyenas? That grim scene where the female lions sit whispering, depressed and without hope? No Mufasa, no one to rescue them?
My life began to feel like that – depressed, discouraged and without hope, with Scar watching my every move, waiting to pounce."

Excerpt from Payback by Eve Rabi, a FREE romantic crime read.  

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Synopsis of PAYBACK

When Arena escapes Tom, her abusive and vengeful husband, he vows to make her pay.

Luckily, she finds love in the arms of a wonderful man called Bear Shaw, and undercover cop. Bear is loving, generous and adores both her kids. He keeps them safe and they become a family.

Then, while Bear is away on assignment, Arena’s SUV is stolen with her sleeping toddler in it.

Arena is sure it’s Tom behind the theft. The police disagree – Tom was abroad when the theft occurred. Arena doesn’t believe it – she insists it is Tom.

When the police look to question Bear, they cannot find him. According to them, Bear Shaw does not exist.

Arena’s whole world begins to tilt. Who does she believe? Who does she trust? Had Tom sent Bear to destroy her?

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To read more from PAYBACK, a romantic suspense book, FREE for a limited time, click on this Amazon link:

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So, Years Later, my Ex- Boyfriend, Now Married, Sends Me a Friend Request on Facebook.

 

I was seventeen, he was eighteen when we started dating. I was shy when it came to boys, so he was my first kiss, my first date, my first love, my first everything.

We were both college students, so money was scarce, yet he insisted on buying me a ring, despite me never having thought about one. All he could afford was this li’l diamond chip, bought with money from his student loan. Money that he didn’t have to spare. He was incredibly generous and spoiled me at every turn with gifts.

The ring became my most prized possession and it seldom left my finger. I recall no one being impressed with it, other than myself, I recall my aunt scoffing at it, but I didn’t care.

We dated for five years, made plans to marry, even chose names for our kids. We had the kind of love Savage Garden sang about – we were truly, madly, deeply in love with each other. Trust me when I say that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other – every deserted spot became a passionate make-out point, and oh, the passion!

However, as the years passed, something weird happened to me – I grew restless and longed for greener pastures.

My desire to venture away from him hurt and confused him, so we argued all the time about it. Eventually, we agreed that I would venture out in the wide world, and he would wait for me. When I returned home, we would marry, settle down and go on to have two children, a dog, a cat and fish in a tank.

Best. Laid. Plans.

Alas, the moment I left my city, my future husband and the father of my children was quickly snapped up by a close mutual ‘friend’, one who had encouraged me to go out and ‘taste the world before settling down.’ That kind of ‘friend.’ (How ‘bout that? You’ve got a friend like that? You do? Careful now …)

So, I returned home to claim him, only to find that he was no longer mine. Despite it being mainly my fault for leaving, I felt a sense of profound loss.

My dented ego and I moved on to greener, bigger and maybe even better, true, but, I could never forgot the boy I had left behind, the boy I had lost because of my need to see the world. The boy who gave me my first diamond ring. My first diamond chip, actually. The boy who gave me all he could, all he had, all the time.

I had my ring, though. She had him and I had his ring. I sound like that Patsy Cline song, She’s Got You, right?

I've got your picture, 

That you gave to me

And it's signed with love

Just like it used to be

The only thing different

The only thing new

I've got your picture

She's got you

I moved to a different country, got married to a great guy, had children and achieved all that I had dreamed of, and even some of what I had never dreamed of.

Yet, I always thought about him - What are you doing now? Did you end up doing this, did you end up buying that? Are you happy now? How happy? Happier with her than with me? You are?

Then, years later, to my surprise, I get a friend request from him on Facebook.

I was shocked – my ex-boyfriend wants to friend me on Facebook?

Can’t be him. Not after all these years.

I checked out his profile – it’s him! OMG!!!!

With shaking hands, I accepted his request. Then then followed the lengthy online chats and emojis. (We lived in different countries, remember?)

Him: So, I finally found you. You hiding from me?

Me: Hey! Good to make contact with you again.

Him: Great to make contact with you. Wonderful in fact. We’re actually talking. Amazing! Wow!

His adjectives – I looooved them!

Me: Smiley face.

Him: Smiley face jumping up and down.

Me: Lol emoji 

Me: How is the wife?

Not that I wanted to know about her. I really don’t know why I even asked about her. Maybe, subconsciously, I wanted to hear that they had broken up. Divorced. She was doing badly – had a problem with various methamphetamines and alcohol, is in prison for murder … a rejected girl could hope, right?

Him: She’s okay.

Okay? Damn!

Moving on - in a quest to keep it light, I fired more safe questions at him.

Me: The kids?

Me: Work?

Him: All good. Kids grown, taller than me. Smart too.

Me: Same here. My kids know it all. They know everything. Seriously.

Him: Lol.

Me: From the age of five, they knew it all and I could teach them nothing. |

Him:  Sounds like someone we both know. Lol!

Him: Mm. Hey, you remember you once bought me a chain while we were dating?

Me: Um ...

Me: You mean the silver one? Y?

Him: Still got it.

Me: What!

Him: Use it all the time.

Me: U serious?

Him: Absolutely. It’s my most prized possession.

His most prized possession? I felt like I’ve swallowed a handful of sunbeams. His most prized possession? OMG!

Me: Can’t believe it. Would love to see a pic.

Him: Hold on, will take one. Am wearing it now.

Me: Now? OMG!

Bristling with excitement, I waited for the picture. After a few minutes, I saw the chain, cheap, sterling silver. Really cheap.

My emotions were all over the place. I laughed with delight, yet cringed at its cheapness. He’s on the flashy side – gold chains, BMW, designer labels. So, I was surprised that he’d wear something so simple.

Me: OMG! Cringing.

Him: Don’t.

Me: Wow! Does wifey know ‘bout it?

Listen, I had to ask, okay?

Him: She thinks my mom gave it to me.

Me: Wow! 

That’s cheating, right? What a lie! I loved it!

Me: Seriously… wow!

Him: Yep!

Me: Hey, guess what?

Him: What?

Me: I still have your ring.

A short pause before he responds:

Him: U kidding me?

Me: Nope. I have it.

Him: Seriously?

Me: Seriously.

Him: Wow!

Him: You use it?

Me: No, for obvious reasons, but I think of you whenever I see it. 

Me: Seriously.

Another short pause before he responds.

Him: Weepy emoji 

Awwww! I nod to myself, a lump forming in my throat. I stop typing.

Him:  Can’t explain it. Tears emoji.

I smile.

Him: Kiss emoji. 

My smile broadens, despite that lump in my throat.

Him: Can I see a photo? Can’t remember what it looks like. Have an idea though. 

Me: Okay, I will send u one tomorrow.

Him: Now.

Me: Can’t. People around. Sorry.

Him: Now

Me: Tomorrow

Him: Pouting emoji.

Me: Smiling emoji. Still a big baby, huh?

Him: Yep.

Me: Smiley face emoji. Gotta go.

Him: Wait!

Him: Same

Him: time

Him: tomorrow? 

I think about it before I answer. Will I be at my laptop tomorrow this time?

Him: Say yes. I really wanna talk to u. You’ve been on my mind for so long n there’s so much to talk about. Right?

Him: Catch up.

Him: Please!

Me: K talk tomorrow.

Him: Cool. Supercool. Three smiley emojis.

People weren’t around – my nails weren’t done, that’s all!

That evening, in a delightful daze, I softened and pushed back my cuticles, exfoliated my hands, painted my nails a pretty blue and took a picture of me wearing his ring. My first piece of gold I had ever received from anyone. If only my fingers weren’t so fat, I thought as I inspected the photos. The next day, I sent them to him.

His reply was immediate.

Him: Wow!

Him: Cheap ass! Embarrassed to have bought u such a small diamond. Cringing, dying of embarrassment.

Me: Don’t. It’s one of my most prized possession, too. Kept it in the safe, tucked away behind all my other jewellery. Behind my last will and testament so that hubby wouldn’t find it and badger me into throwing it out. Like he did with all our photos.

That’s right, my husband made me burn all my photos.

That’s right, I was indirectly lying to my husband as well.

Him: I’m touched that you kept it. Hey, I remember the day I bought you the ring. You had this big grin on your face, and you kept waving your hands around so that everyone would notice. 

Me: Lol! I remember, I do. 

Him: You flashed it in every photo as if it was an 8 carat Harry Winston pink diamond or something the way u flashed it around.

A cold chill ran up my spine – did he give her an 8-carat Harry Winston pink diamond?  Please let it not be true!

Him: U there?

Me: I remember that day like it was yesterday. You paid cash in small notes too. All your money was spent on the ring, so we couldn’t afford a fancy lunch that day. We shared a pizza and a coke.

Yes, somehow, we had ended up in a high-end jewellery store with snooty assistants, who looked down at us when they saw our pathetic budget.

Him: Yeah, I felt like shit – poor! But I was so excited to able to buy my girl a diamond ring!

Me: Yeah. It was beautiful.

Him: It was beautiful. Awesome memories, right?

I smiled as the memories welled in my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.

There was a long silence before he typed again.

Him: U there?

Me: Yeah. College kids like us had no business dabbling in the world of adults, huh? What went …

Him: What went wrong? 

Silence.

Me: U there?

Him: Yep. Frog in my throat. Memories. 

Me: Ditto.

Another silence.

Him: Besides the times when you look at the ring, do you …like, I mean, do you ever …think about me? About us?

For five years he was my life, my sweetheart, my future. We spent every spare moment together, we planned a dazzling life together, named our babies – what did he expect my answer to be?

Him: Honestly?

I was not expecting this question and I felt conflicted. My head and heart went headlong into battle:

Heart: Tell him the truth – Yes, I think of you. I think of you often. More than I should. I wonder how you're doing. I wonder if you’ve achieved all that you dreamed off. I wonder if you ever think of me, of us. I wonder if you hate me. If you love her the way you loved me. I wonder if you remember my birthday, ‘cause I never forget yours. I wonder –

Head: This man broke your heart – does he deserve the truth?

Heart: it doesn’t matter; water under the bridge. Tell him the truth.

Head: Do you really want to be vulnerable to a man who chose another over you?

Heart: It’s been years and I’ve really moved on, so –

Head: Despite your happy life, you’ve never gotten over the rejection. Just you remember that.

Heart: I left for greener pastures, remember?

Head: How quickly he got married. You’ve always wondered if he was having an affair while you were together, weren’t you? Does he deserve any truth?

Heart: Yes, but … Look, I … shaddup! Lemme think.

Him: U there? Yelllooooow? 

I cleared my throat.

Me: You first. 

Chicken.

Him: All the time.

Him: Every time I bought something new, achieved something, I thought of you. Anytime something monumental happened in my life, I don’t know why, but I thought of you. How nice it would be to tell you about it. Not because I wanted to showoff or something, but just because.”

I nestled into my cloak of smugness. He had thought about me. He thinks about me. All the time too. Wow!

Me: Like the time you got married? You called me that day, remember?

Him: Yeah, and you were such a bitch about it.

Me: What, you expected me to jump for joy?

He had no idea how painful that phone call was for me. How I pretended I didn’t care, all the while wanting to simply die at the finality of our break-up.

Him: Well, you could have -

Me: And she moved in with you right away, so clearly there was something going on between the two of you while we were dating! Of course, I was pissed off.  With her and you. She stole you from me!!!!!

Him: But you left me for -

Me: And anyway, I challenge you to find a girl who says, Congratulations, ex-boyfriend of five years. Hope you and that bitch lives happily ever after like Shrek and Fiona,’ and does a joyful jig.

Him: Shrek? Ha! Ha!

Me: And did your wife know you called me that day?

Him: Of course not. She’d die if she knew.

Me: Mm. Why did you call me? I mean, how could you, on your wedding day of all days, call me, your ex-girlfriend? Something was wrong with that picture, boy.

Him: Yeah, don’t know what I was thinking.

Me: Me. Clearly you were thinking about me.

Him: Clearly, I was. Laughing emoji.

Bastard.

A short silence.

Him: Listen, babe, I have to deliver a lecture. Three actually. Can we chat in about four hours? And can I call you? Whatsapp you?
He called me babe again! Never did I imagine I would ever hear him utter that word again. It pierced through my very soul!

Him: Please, I really want to hear your voice. Please.

Me: I …

Me: Look …

Me: I really don’t …

Him: Just this once. Please! Here’s my number!

Him: Message me your number now.

I hesitated.

Him: Please!

Me: k

Him: Promise?

Me: I will.

Him: No, say you promise.

I smiled to myself.

Me: I promise.

Him: Cool – Three smiley faces emojis with sunglasses 

Him: Xoxo.

I laughed and messaged him my number. How should I end the conversation, I wondered?

Xoxo? No, hugs and kisses – too forward for our first convo.

C u later? Too cold.

After much thought, I typed in five smiley faces and hit send. It was neutral enough and he could read into it whatever he liked.

I logged off and peered at the clock. Four hours.

I floated around to Patsy Cline’s, She’s got you, as I loaded the dishwasher, tidied the lounge, folded washing, fed the dog and cat and hastily assembled cheese sandwiches for dinner ( no time to cook, I’m too busy flirting with my ex!), all so that I could free up my time to talk to him in four hours.

To hear his voice after so many years – I didn’t think I ever would. The thought of it made me shiver with delight. I began to out-sing Patsy Cline.

I've got your picture

That you gave to me

And it's signed with love

Just like it used to be

The only thing different

The only thing new

I've got your picture

She's got you!

I looked at the clock again. Only an hour has passed! Damn!

And who knew I could clean up this fast? Where did my energy come from?  

When my phone rang three hours later (not four), with an out-of-Area signal on it, my mouth went dry and my hands felt clammy.

For a while, I stared at the phone, before I hit, ‘Decline.’

Why?

It took me a few moments to realize that I was not ready to take things further than an online conversation. At that moment.

He messaged me back to say that he understood that someone was probably around, and that he would call again. So understanding, right?

We continued our messaging and also began to email each other after that.

Over the next couple of days, we floated down memory lane, trading rich, often poignant memories and umpteen ‘Hey, remember that time …?’

He’s a funny, witty guy who always made me laugh. He told me that I had always made him laugh, so our days were heady and fun, and I darted for my phone each time it pinged, reading the messages with a smile, savoriness them, then re-reading them.

Despite not wanting to talk to him over the phone, I reached for my phone the moment I opened my eyes to read his messages, and sent him a message before I closed my eyes at night.

I felt alive, seventeen again, and I wandered through my days in a blissful state of nostalgia, belting out Kid Rock’s All Summer Long:

It was 1989, my thoughts were short my hair was long

Caught somewhere between a boy and man

She was seventeen and she was far from in-between

It was summertime in Northern Michigan

Yeah, despite me never having lived in Michigan, I sang out loud.

Then, as I was driving one day, head in the clouds, thinking about how my ex and I used to make plans to watch a movie marathon, get popcorn and chocolate and Coke ready and pizza for it, only to fall asleep ten minutes after the movie started, my sister called me to deliver some shattering news. My husband had discovered my emails with my ex and … he had been reading them for days!

According to her, he was so upset, he had reached out to her. He told her not to say anything to me, as he would confront me about it soon.

But, of course, my sister couldn’t stay silent, so she told me.

She sounded angry, but I knew her well enough to know that she was afraid of what was going to happen.

I was so stunned by what I had heard, I missed my turnoff, almost hit another car and had motorists honk and scream abuse at me, Eventually had to pull the car over to the side of the road to steady my shaking hands.

My husband had known all along? Yet, he had not confronted me about it? Why?

Then, I remembered that he had been a little snappy with me the day before, something I took little notice of. I guess I was so wrapped up with my ex and our ring and our trips down Memory Lane, that I had failed to pay attention to my husband’s change in demeanor.

Apparently, my husband was in tears when he had spoke to my sister about my shenanigans.

In tears?

My husband was a big man – six-foot-five, a burly, black-skinned biker with dreads, and I had never seen him tear-up before, so I felt terrible to have reduced him like that.

Knowing that my husband had read every detail of our messages – about the ring, my memories, the children’s names my ex and I had discussed … damn! I could just imagine his hurt.

What a mess I had created. I needed to fix it. The question was: how?

I was nervous to return home. What was in store for me?

Nothing.

That’s right, when I returned home, my husband said nothing to me; he just looked at me with probing eyes, while I avoided his. When I did meet his eyes, I saw the hurt. That’s when I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

Bull by the horns – I cried as I put my arms around him and apologized. Profusely. After which, I went on to do everything I could to make it up to him, because I loved him dearly.
We fought and he yelled many things at me:
“It’s cheating! Messaging each other is fucking cheating!”
It hadn't felt like cheating, it felt harmless, right even. Just two ol' friends strolling down Memory Lane. Hand-in-hand. Arm-in-arm. Cheek-to-cheek. 
But it was cheating. 
Make no mistake about that. 
My angry husband told me what he could do to my ex, or what he could arrange to have done to him, how he could walk away from me, and never look back, about what happens when you break a mirror …

I begged him not to re-arrange my ex’s face, to give me another chance, assured him that all those messages between me and my ex was nothing… I tried my best to apologise.

He said, “This guy really wants you back.”

I denied it and reassured him that it all meant nothing. What else could I have said?

Luckily, in the end, after a lot of yelling and fighting, my husband finally said, “I want to fight for you.”

Those words made me exhale. They also brought on a tsunami of fresh tears.

My ex?

When I told him that my husband had discovered our convos and that he must never contact me again, he begged me not to cut off contact with him, reminding me of the history we shared and other stuff.

He was so persistent, I ended up blocking him. I felt bad doing that, but my husband’s feelings and my marriage came first.

Thankfully, over time, we put that indiscretion of mine behind us and there was a certain newness (is this a word) to our relationship, which was delightful.

Oh, make no mistake, our marriage wasn't perfect after that. It wasn't perfect before that and it certainly wasn't perfect after that, it just was.

But, I guess we loved each other to try to work it out. I was grateful for that.

The ring?

I threw it away.

Well, that's not altogether true. I threw it in my sister’s direction for safekeeping, because, well, do you really expect me to throw it away? C'mon! It would have broken my heart to do that.

When my husband passed a few years ago, my ex reached out to me again. Somehow he managed to make contact with me.

We messaged each other, and again, he wanted to talk to me and even see me again, but I had no intention of resuming things with him, mainly because by then, I realized that I did not want to hurt another woman, despite what she had done to me. To us. The man she was married to, the one who she stole from me, would always hanker after me. I took comfort in that.

I just wanted to be left alone with my ring and my memories of my first love.

I still think of him though (how can I not?), and it’s usually with a wistful smile and sometimes a chuckle when I do.

But, for now, it’s me and Patsy Cline …

I've got your class ring

That proved you cared

And it still looks the same

As when you gave it, dear

The only thing different

The only thing new

I've got these little things

She's … got …. You ….

END

(This blog post is an update on a previous blog post)

 ………………………………

Before you go, if you enjoy reading screwed up #LoveTriangles about past love and unrequited love, and if you're a sucker for angsty romance that promises to move your waterproof mascara, then you should check out Burn's World (below).

It's a tale about a street thug who doesn't take no for an answer, a blue-eyed overprivileged athlete and a smart-mouth caught in the middle.  It's free on Amazon and Smashwords, but only for a limited time, so grab your copy NOW!

To download this FREE BOOK (for a limited time), please click on image above.

EXCERPT 

"So, what do you want from me? Money? How much?"

“I don’t want your money.”

"What?"

"Don't want your money."

“Then ... what do you want?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Oh, I see – you want me because I belong to another man?”

“Um ... because you belong to him.”

"What? You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am serious!"

“That … that’s pretty fucked up, you do realize that, right?”

“Yeah, but as you've said before, I am fucked up. So, what’ll it be?”

“Well, I mean ... like, do I have a choice? You’re –”

“—blackmailing you? Yeah, yeah, yeah!  We gotta deal or what?”

“You have  some nerve. You're not even trying to deny --”

“We got a deal or what? Huh?”

"-your indecent -"

“Yeah, yeah, yeah - what's it gonna be? We gotta deal or what?”

“Fine! But let the record show that ... it’s against my -”

End of Excerpt

To read more about this complicated love triangle, click on this link:

https://smarturl.it/9yscsq

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That One Time My Brother Cheated on His Wife.

 

When I was around fifteen, my married brother, Drake, who was years older than me, had an affair with a work colleague.

When I spied the other woman from a distance, I lost hope – that chick resembled Pamela Anderson. When she does her own hair and make-up. That Pamela, she drank bottles and bottles of beer and chain-smoked, using a shiny cigarette holder (I thought the cigarette holder was so damn classy, I wanted one even though I did not smoke).

As I studied the other woman, I concluded with dismay, that my sister in law Cheryl, stood not a chance against the blonde bombshell. Compared with Pamela, Cheryl was plain. Plain, but nice with a nurturing nature. (I like her, hence the alliteration.)
Now Drake, my cheating-ass bro, he was a tall, green-eyed dude who had slept his way around the neighborhood prior to getting hitched. Prior. Maybe it had something to do with those tattoos of skulls on his arms and his awesome tan.
Luckily, once married, Drake had morphed into a caring family man and stopped fucking around.  Growing up in a family of turmoil, Drake was my father-figure and protector. He still is and I love him dearly. (It’s the kind of love that brings tears to one’s eyes as you write about it. Ever had that?)
Since we all lived in a big, overcrowded family home (I was one of seven children – that’s right, a child for every day of the week), I was privy to the arguments between Cheryl and Drake, which I eavesdropped on. (We didn’t have Tik Tok then, so we drew entertainment from wherever we could.)
Prior to the affair, Cheryl and Drake had a great relationship, and I had always taken comfort in their solid marriage. So, when Drake had the affair, I was crushed. I felt so betrayed by my brother’s behavior, my fifteen-year-old hurt self urged my sister-in-law to leave his cheating ass.
She didn’t leave him, which made me lose a bit of respect for her.
Nevertheless, I hung around my hurt sister-in-law, trying to find ways to comfort her. For the first time I can remember, I actually helped her with household chores, mainly because she was OCD about cleanliness, and I was anything but.
I figured the best way to comfort Cheryl was to help her clean up the house and make her endless cups of tea with sugar, which she never said no to.
One day while peeling potatoes, the conversation between my sister-in-law and myself went like this:
Me: “Leave him! He’s a bloody cheat! Leave him, Cheryl.”
Cheryl: “Peel a little thinner; you’re peeling too thick, Eve.”
Me: “He’s a bloody cheat!”
Silence.
Me: “Why do you want to stay with a dog like that?” (Yeah, I called my beloved brother a dog. But it was a Golden Retriever, not a Rottweiler.)
Cheryl: “Eve, when you have a good man, other women want him because he’s good. All the things you found attractive in him, those women are also attracted to, and that’s why they want him. He may fight them off for a while, but sometimes temptation gets to him. You must understand that.”
Me: “Mm. Is this enough, or must I peel more?”
Cheryl: “You can’t just give up on your marriage. Two more, but peel thinner. Sometimes the affair dies off and then he realizes that the fun part is over and he returns to the marriage. Yes, think like that! Drake is worth fighting for, you know. So … I’ll fight for him. I must have patience.”
patience, my ass!
Me: “You want a cup of tea?”
Cheryl: “Yes, please, Eve.”
See what I mean – Cheryl never said no to tea.
I worried about the ‘fighting’ bit, though. Not only did I believe that Cheryl didn’t stand a chance against the striking blonde, but I also wasn’t sure about Cheryl’s pow! wow! skills. I believed that the blonde would win in both instances. Not sure why, but I believed that.
I was however, determined to stand next to Cheryl and beat the crap out of the other woman, if need be. I was the type to insert myself into a fight, mainly to separate. Except when someone was fighting with one of my sibling; then I would band with my sibling and kick the crap out of the person. Or try to. I was from the hood, so I knew a thing or two about fighting, having had my fair share of punch-ons.

So, I braced myself for the rumble, to scratch out her blue eyes (if need be, because they were so pretty), pull at her long blonde mane (if need be because it was so glorious) and to steal her cigarette holder (even though I didn’t smoke, I would feel cool).
But … the fight didn’t take place. I cannot remember why it didn’t.
For a couple of weeks, Drake was AWOL and Cheryl went to bed alone, long after everyone in the family went to bed.

Our family rallied around Cheryl, trying to comfort her, the air around us thick with uncertainty and disappointment. Except for my mother – I did not see her comfort Cheryl at all. I think she didn’t care too much for Cheryl because … well, maybe it was because Cheryl cooked and cleaned for our family, washed our clothing, shopped, took care of her husband’s younger sisters and did everything a mother would for the family, while my mother did nothing. Maybe that was the reason my mother resented her daughter-in-law. But, since Cheryl was my surrogate mother, I loved her and was prepared to punch out the lights of the other woman.

Late one night, I heard my brother’s Ford Cortina (a bottle green one with a noisy exhaust) pull up into our yard. I got up from my bed and peeped through the window. Drake had parked the car, but he hadn’t alighted from the vehicle.
I waited.
Almost half an hour passed, and he remained in the car.
What the hell?
Then, through the window, I watched Cheryl stride up to the car. I was sure she had a brick in her hand. I expected her to, because that’s what I would have had in my hand – two bricks, one for backup and because I believed in spares and pairs.

Anyho, I got scared and then excited – fight! fight! fight!
I braced myself for Cheryl to lose her shit, to slam the brick through the car window, to smash it against my cheating brother’s head, for him to burn rubber as he raced away from the scorned wife, blood dripping down his head.

I further mentally prepared to race downstairs and separate the scorned wife from the cheating Golden Retriever if there was a physical altercation. I even braced myself to cop a few blows in the process. I would take them for Cheryl, but I prayed they would not come from the brick.

Although, I didn’t want Drake’s skull to get crushed, because he was the kind of guy who, as a teenager used his money on essentials for the family like a clothes iron and kettle. He was that kind of boy. Sweet.

What I saw next confused me. I watched my sister-in-law open the door, take Drake’s hand and lead him out of the car. She hugged him, dried his tears with her hands, then led him into the house.
Then there was silence. Oh, I did eavesdrop, but I heard zilch. Bemused, I took my tired self to bed, where I slept with one eye open.

After that, Cheryl and Drake lived happily ever after.

No, seriously – Pamela and her cigarette holder fucked off, Cheryl and Drake went on to have another beautiful daughter, and we all lived happily ever after in our overcrowded home.
I kept a keen eye on the Golden Retriever after that, brick in sight, waiting for him to slip up and return to his errant ways. But, Drake was so good to Cheryl after that, so attentive and such an amazing husband, Cheryl became the envy of all the women around, including those who Drake whored around with in the neighbourhood.

Not only that, but Drake was an amazing dad to their two children, and they love him the way I love him. I wanted to marry a man just like Drake, so that I could have their marriage.
Recently, I visited Cheryl and Drake, and during one of our long walks down memory lane, Cheryl coughed twice. Just twice. Drake immediately got up and fetched her a glass of water. She hadn’t even asked him for water. Good doggie, right? I thought how lucky Cheryl was to be married to an attentive man like Drake. I thought how glad I was that she did not take my advice and leave.

They recently celebrated their 40^th wedding anniversary, which I was unable to attend as we live in different countries (names have been changed to protect the guilty).

So, the moral of the story? The reason I air my family’s dirty laundry? (Some of it, I have tons, believe me).
Well, no reason, really. I just wanted to share with you what my wise sister-in-law told me years ago.

Have I ever used that advice?
No.
Why?
Because my fucking ego is too big!

Look, people are quick to say, “Walk away! No man is worth fighting for.” Yeah, they may be right.
However, if your man is abusive, I would tell you to pick up two bricks. I’m kidding (I’m from the hood, remember?) No, I would tell you to leave in a heartbeat.

If a man wasn’t attentive or if your marriage needs resuscitation, I’d advise you to talk to him about it. Several times. Handcuff the motherfucker to a chair and force him to listen.
If he doesn’t listen, or consider your feelings, I’d ask you to ditch him. Simple.

Or stay married to him, but have an extramarital affair with the pool boy with an out of control libido. Simple.
What? Like you’ve never fantasized about it?

Over the years I’ve had lots of women tell me off, when I suggested not being too quick to leave their cheating significant other. And that’s okay, I get it. But, what if he’s worth fighting for? What if you could survive this blimp on the road to your fortieth wedding anniversary? Mm?
Food for thought? (Post updated for correction - it should read fortieth not fiftieth.)

Anyway, since we’re on the subject of whoring around, have you read The Other Woman by Eve Rabi (that’s me, BTW).
You haven’t? OMG!!! Why not? You’re missing on a mother of a rumble, believe me!
Check it out here:

Question: A seductress steals your husband, rips apart your family and shatters your dreams.

You:

a) Wish them luck, and walk away with your head held high (because that’s what society expects you to do)?

b) Quietly seethe, but accept that there is just nothing you can do about it (because it easier for everyone if you do nothing)?

c) Dig up dirt on the b**tch (because someone like this would undoubtedly have dirt), use it to sabotage their relationship, then sit back with a glass of Pinot Grigio and watch the fuckers BUUUURN?

Answer: C. Totally C. Oh, God, C!

The Other Woman $0.99c for a limited time!

A mild-mannered wife awakes one day to find that she has been replaced by a cunning seductress. Helplessly, she watches the other woman help herself to her husband, her children and her life. Then one day, she snaps. With nothing to lose, she sets out to fight, win back her family, take back all that is hers.

Her techniques are dirty and underhanded, causing untold misery to her nemeses, rocking the foundations of her ex-husband’s new marriage.

Trouble is, the other woman does not believe in losing, has no intention of backing down and is an even dirtier fighter. The result? A scandalous collision between the wife and the mistress, where mayhem and murder follow.

If you’ve enjoyed Gone Girl, Girl on the Train, HBO’s The Affair and Fatal Attraction, you will enjoy this fast-paced, action-packed romantic suspense thriller about lust, betrayal, revenge, and somewhere along the line, steamy romance.

$0.99 cents for a limited time!
To read more from THE OTHER WOMAN, click on this link:

https://smarturl.it/870daj

 

MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL - Angsty, drama-filled Romantic Suspense

We warned her, “Don’t fall for Cody, he’s a player, he’ll break your heart. Guaranteed. Ignore that chiseled six-pack of his, those rugged looks, that melting grin – all of it, and go for his brother, Scott, instead. Scott, now there’s a gentleman, intelligent, kind, shy, and just as good looking as Cody. Really, he is. The kind of man who won’t break your heart. Husband material.”
Did Bridie listen? Nope.  And where did it get her? A broken heart – that’s what she got. As expected. Of course, none of us said, I told you so. We wanted to, but we didn’t. Why? Because we were young and dumb once. 
Anyway, life has a way of screwing things up, as you know, and in this case, it did. In a big way. Huge, I tell you. Cody, Bridie and Scott were quickly thrust headlong into a heartbreaking love triangle that destroyed the brother’s relationship, ripped apart their family and left them drowning in heartbreak. Sad. 
It didn’t end there. Oh, no – years later, circumstances forced the trio to interact and even live together – that’s right, two of them were to live together!
Buried emotions surfaced, old wounds were picked at, and a tsunami of heartbreak followed.   
And then? you ask. 
Well, there are a lot of ‘And thens’, too many for me to list. So, my suggestion: make a giant pot of coffee, because you’re going to be reading this fast-paced romantic suspense thriller through the night. (Add whisky or rum or brandy to the pot if you need to.) Oh, and keep the tissues handy, because you’re going to cry. Ugly cry. Guaranteed. Like really ugly. Hey, we’re talking about two brothers and their hearts here – how can this story not be sad?

  $0.99 for a limited time!         Kindle Unlimited 

EXCERPT
I was silent as I drove my family to dinner. They weren’t – they chatted away in high-pitched voices about … I have no idea what the fuck they chatted about, because my mind was reeling with the betrayal - my girl and my brother, my girl and my brother, my girl and my FUCKING BROTHER!
How could they do this to me? I loved her with every fiber of my being, and she would do this to me? What about him? He was my brother – I’d die for him in a heartbeat, he knew that, and he could do this to me? Why? How? When? Where? The fuck I knew. I just felt the urge to break something. In fact, my urge to destroy became so intense, I found myself turning my Hummer around.
“Wha … where you going?” my mother demanded.
I didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question,” she said, her voice filled with panic.  “Where you going?”
My response was to hit the gas.
My dad sat upright in his seat, his neck turning wildly around, a look of fear on his face. “Son?”
I stared ahead at the road as I floored it.
“Bro, stop!” Jenna said. “I know where you’re going! You stop right now. This minute! Bro …”
Ignoring all their pleas, I gunned the Hummer toward Bridie’s old place. That’s where she’d be. She had to be there.  She’d better be there.
I made it just in time – she was in the parking lot, about to get into my brother’s Roadster.
Okay.
I spotted him in the driver’s seat, talking on his phone.
I braked hard, and without killing the engine, hopped out of my Hummer.
Within seconds, my family was chasing after me in tandem, my sister behind me, my father behind her and my mother behind him, all chorusing for me to stop whatever I was about to do.
When Bridie saw me, she mouthed my name, her blue eyes filled with surprise at the sight of me.
With a mirthless smile, I picked up a brick from the side of the road and strode toward my brother.
When she saw me pick up the brick, it was Bridie’s turn to scream. “What are you doing with that brick? STOOOOP! What are you doing? STOOOP!”
I ignored her and stomped over to my brother. What did she think I was going to do with the brick, huh? Smash his skull with it until his brains decorated his beloved Roadster – that was the plan. Simple.
His window was opened. Good.
The first thing I did was boot his door several times. That caused the door to buckle and trap him inside the car. Exactly where I wanted him to be.
When he saw me above him, brick in hand, a manic look on my face, the phone slid out of his hand. Amidst the pleas of my family and the screams of woman who betrayed, I raised the brick.
His eyes grew large – the largest I’ve ever seen.
Through clenched teeth I said, “You and my girl, bro? Yeah? Well, guess what? Today you die! Bro.”
PRAISE FOR MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL
“Dishes didn’t get washed, supper didn’t get cooked, nothing got done. This book was like a drug; I had to know what happened.”
“It's so hard to find a really good book these days. Every so often you find a jewel. My Brother, My Rival, is such a good read! You won't want to put it down.”
“There are very few books that can make me cry. Ugly cry. I’m giving this a perfect 10.”
“If you have something to do during your day, DO NOT start reading this book! ’Cause once you start you won't put it down!”
“I love love love this book so much. I've read it twice.”
“This book has been playing in my head all night. I dreamed about it, woke up thinking about it. Serious book hangover coming up. You will need tissues a few times in this book.”
"If I could give this book a 10, I would! It has everything. Brilliant! I’m a fan for life.”
“I could not go to sleep until I finished this book, then I woke up the next morning to reread it.”
"You will laugh, cry and yell with this book, you won't be able to put it down once you start reading it! THIS IS A BOOK NOT TO BE MISSED!!"
“Fabulously realistic and colorful, the descriptions of people and events are great.”
"Brilliant story. Made me laugh and cry. Have recommended it to family and friends."

$0.99 for a limited time!         Kindle Unlimited

To read more of angsty and heartbreaking drama, click on the Amazon link below:
https://smarturl.it/47nhxe




.................................................................................................................................................................

Eve Rabi is the author of 41 romantic crime and suspense novels.
Inspired by the likes of Sidney Sheldon and Gillian Flynn, her tales are bold, scandalous, controversial and often humorous.
To quote an Amazon reviewer: “When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end.”
If you’re bored of regular romance, if you like your romance with twists and turns, if you prefer your crime novels to have strong romantic themes, then you will enjoy Eve Rabi’s multi-genre books.
In her spare time, Eve likes to dance like no one is watching.
She also likes to eat like no one is watching. That's why she has to dance so often.