Page 2
Story: When Love Wasn’t Enough
Then there was another: Beckham in an apron, focused and intent on washing vegetables in the sink.
He was cooking for her, despite having previously promised that he would only ever cook for me.
I lost control, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I sent her message after message, my rage and bitterness spilling out uncontrollably.
“Who are you really?”
“He’s my husband. Do you realise you are the other woman here?”
“Where are you two now?” Why isn’t he returning?”
“You’re a terrible person for stealing someone else’s husband!””
My hands trembled uncontrollably as I sent that final message, and an indescribable wave of emotion washed over me.
I never imagined sending such words to a woman I’d never met.
She said, “If you want the truth, come to Swiss Gardens.”
When I read her message, I jumped out of bed and rushed through my morning routine.
I grabbed the first set of clothes I could find in my closet and headed straight to Swiss Gardens.
My heart pounded with anxiety as we travelled.
To be honest, I had no idea what I was going to do once I got there.
Maybe I just needed an answer and was too afraid to confront the reality of Beckham’s betrayal.
As soon as I stepped out of the taxi, I noticed a woman walking out with Beckham.
She was stunning, with a flawless figure, a youthful face full of vitality, and an air of absolute confidence.
Beckham said something that caused her to cover her mouth and laugh, her joy resonating through the air.
The sight was unbearable.
I rushed towards them, blocking their path with my outstretched arms.
Despite my intention to confront them, my voice trembled. “What are you two doing?”
Beckham, startled by my sudden appearance, frowned.
When his eyes met mine, they were filled with surprise and disgust. The girl beside him raised an eyebrow at me, a challenging smile on her lips.
Beckham pulled her behind him, his tone sharp: “Why are you here?”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Who is she?”
He did not respond, his impatience growing.
Instead, he pushed me away, “What are you doing here?” “This is not the place for you.”
His push sent me reeling, and I snapped.
I pushed him back with all my strength. “I’m asking you, who is she?!”
I yelled with all my might, my voice breaking on the final word.
Beckham staggered back a step and glared at me.
“Are you out of your mind?” Look at yourself! Do you have no shame?” He yelled back.
I froze, staring at him in surprise, unable to believe what I was hearing.
He did not spare me another glance.
Without hesitation, Beckham took the woman’s hand and led her to his car.
He waited for her to settle into the passenger seat before starting the engine and speeding away, leaving me standing there, feeling as if the blood in my veins had frozen.
I took out my phone and caught a glimpse of myself: exhausted from a restless night, my face gaunt, eyes hollow, and hair dishevelled.
The sight startled me.
I wandered back home, dazed.
By the time I arrived, Beckham had not returned.
He was cooking for her, despite having previously promised that he would only ever cook for me.
I lost control, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I sent her message after message, my rage and bitterness spilling out uncontrollably.
“Who are you really?”
“He’s my husband. Do you realise you are the other woman here?”
“Where are you two now?” Why isn’t he returning?”
“You’re a terrible person for stealing someone else’s husband!””
My hands trembled uncontrollably as I sent that final message, and an indescribable wave of emotion washed over me.
I never imagined sending such words to a woman I’d never met.
She said, “If you want the truth, come to Swiss Gardens.”
When I read her message, I jumped out of bed and rushed through my morning routine.
I grabbed the first set of clothes I could find in my closet and headed straight to Swiss Gardens.
My heart pounded with anxiety as we travelled.
To be honest, I had no idea what I was going to do once I got there.
Maybe I just needed an answer and was too afraid to confront the reality of Beckham’s betrayal.
As soon as I stepped out of the taxi, I noticed a woman walking out with Beckham.
She was stunning, with a flawless figure, a youthful face full of vitality, and an air of absolute confidence.
Beckham said something that caused her to cover her mouth and laugh, her joy resonating through the air.
The sight was unbearable.
I rushed towards them, blocking their path with my outstretched arms.
Despite my intention to confront them, my voice trembled. “What are you two doing?”
Beckham, startled by my sudden appearance, frowned.
When his eyes met mine, they were filled with surprise and disgust. The girl beside him raised an eyebrow at me, a challenging smile on her lips.
Beckham pulled her behind him, his tone sharp: “Why are you here?”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Who is she?”
He did not respond, his impatience growing.
Instead, he pushed me away, “What are you doing here?” “This is not the place for you.”
His push sent me reeling, and I snapped.
I pushed him back with all my strength. “I’m asking you, who is she?!”
I yelled with all my might, my voice breaking on the final word.
Beckham staggered back a step and glared at me.
“Are you out of your mind?” Look at yourself! Do you have no shame?” He yelled back.
I froze, staring at him in surprise, unable to believe what I was hearing.
He did not spare me another glance.
Without hesitation, Beckham took the woman’s hand and led her to his car.
He waited for her to settle into the passenger seat before starting the engine and speeding away, leaving me standing there, feeling as if the blood in my veins had frozen.
I took out my phone and caught a glimpse of myself: exhausted from a restless night, my face gaunt, eyes hollow, and hair dishevelled.
The sight startled me.
I wandered back home, dazed.
By the time I arrived, Beckham had not returned.