Widow In My Bed

Matthew Wallace

I didn't expect to see her again. The woman in the pastel purple dress completely captured my attention. I still remember every curve of her body and the tattoos beautifully engraved on her smooth skin. Perfect.

She was a living doll that had just come out of a glass box with beautiful tattoos I would never forget because every tattoo has a different meaning. I know that very well.

It's still vivid in my memory how she sighed as I kissed the tattoos on her body one by one. A sigh that sounded so beautiful, and among the women I had spent the night with, she was the most attractive when she sighed.

It was the craziest two weeks of my life with a foreign woman in Havana, Cuba, who was still someone else's wife.

If I'm honest, enjoying someone else's property feels very good. You must know what I mean very well. It's like grabbing ice cream from a friend; it feels much better than buying your own. There's a feeling of triumph and excitement that I can't explain.

I was a jerk!

I was, admitted it. It was a curse word that she often said to me. And strangely, I laughed every time she swore at me. It's funny.

Okay, I stand corrected. I still have a few mannerisms in bed. First, I won't sleep with a drunk woman. Second, I won't be a pushy asshole. And finally, no sex with a married woman. But this woman might be an exception because I discovered she was married on our last night in Havana.

I was shocked and very angry with her. I even grabbed her beautiful face like I wanted to destroy my enemies. But what was her reaction? She laughed and said that she would divorce her husband soon.

That woman is like a wild rose. She is so thorny yet always manages to make her look so beautiful.

Back to the present situation.

I wanted to greet her but needed to know her name, cell phone number, or where she came from. That was the deal between me and her. We were just vacation friends with benefits while in Havana. That's what we agreed on so it wouldn't affect our lives.

I reassured my heart once again. Yes, I must be wrong. He must be someone else. But the tattoo couldn't be lying. How could there be anyone who would have the same tattoo characteristics?

Yet why was her face so similar to that woman? Her warm sighs are still ringing in my ears, the sensation of kissing her tattoo is still memorized in my brain, her body that smells like wild roses always manages to attract me to eat her, and the memory of touching her can never make me forget.

But how could that woman be here, at Steve and Kellani's wedding?

Who is she?

The woman's name is Amanda La Howard. I mean the younger sister of the older man, Steve La Howard. My brain couldn't think. I couldn't imagine how the older man would react if he found out I was fucking his younger sister. He would kill me for sure!

After asking Javas Nararya, one of my right-hand men, to investigate the woman, I discovered she lived in Australia. Her words at that time, that she would divorce her husband soon, were truthful.

Amanda La Howard is a widow.

Hey, don't think anything of it. I don't want to make her my lover, let alone my wife.

I've never been in love and am dangerous; my enemies are everywhere. I'm a criminal more than a criminal. So I can't have a wife, let alone children. It will harm them.

I wanted to get acquainted more politely. If Amanda is willing, we can have the same relationship we had in Havana, friends with benefits. Of course, if Amanda accepts a jerk like me gracefully.

Amanda. I like that name.

Amanda La Howard

How did that guy show up here? Damn it!

For some people, meeting abroad and then falling in love is romantic. But for me, love is nothing more than pain. Too much pain to freeze my heart.

Never. Enough. I swear that I will never fall in love again with anyone.

All these wounds started from my marriage to the man I loved so much. Christoper Walker, the man I had been dating since college, finally married me. Chris was the sweetest man I've ever known. I am caring, polite, and quite close to my family. His mom was an old friend of my mom's. Everyone said we were the perfect couple, so much so that we got the title of The King and The Queen at prom night.

Beautiful. I'm sure you think so. We loved each other, our families approved, and then it all ended happily with marriage. But I was wrong, and our marriage was beginning—the beginning of my destruction.

What most people say may be true. Being in a relationship for a long time does not guarantee that we will get to know our partner's identity well. For five years, I dated Chris, and for five years, I sailed the ark of the household with him, which turned out to be a mirage.

In the first year of our marriage, everything was still warm, and nothing had changed. Chris was still romantic and caring. Even when he learned I was pregnant with his child, Chris was so happy he contacted everyone we knew. He always took care of me with love. But things didn't go smoothly in my sixteenth week of pregnancy. I miscarried.

I continued to miscarry three times in a row. The doctor finally discovered the fact that I was suffering from Cervical Incompetence or another name for a weak uterus. This condition is a pregnancy complication that can have serious consequences. A weak womb will cause women to give birth to premature babies, stillbirths or babies born dead, and miscarriages in the second trimester.

Chris still tried to support me. He had accompanied me to therapy several times, although to no avail.

But slowly, everything started to change for the worse. Especially when Chris's family was increasingly pressuring him to have children. In addition, Chris's mother came to our house more often, interfering in my household affairs.

At first, Chris always defended me in front of his mother, but over time, his attitude changed. Chris started ignoring me, coming home late at night for work, and when we had a big fight, he began to play with his hands. Slaps, rough pinches, and punches were a part of my daily life.