Oh, Greg, you poor man. I look at you. Mute. Every inch of you paralyzed by shock. Exactly the reaction I’d expected.
I get no satisfaction from seeing you suffer like this, although – it has to be said – you’ve been unforgivably weak all these years. You didn’t have to stay with her, you could have left her years ago. Christ, if you felt unable to exist without a woman in your life, you needn’t have looked further than Miranda. As much as she irritates me, I can’t fault her devotion to you. Granted, I couldn’t resist telling her about your affair (just hearing the shock in her voice, imagining the look on her face, was priceless) but she would have been a better mother to your messed-up kids than Chrissy.
But despite Chrissy pushing you away, despite her being a terrible wife and mother, you stayed, and that makes you pathetic in my eyes. A real man wouldn’t have stayed. You’re a master of your own misery as far as I can tell, and therefore it’s hard to have sympathy for you.
I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching her suffer all these years. And now my daughter and I have taken her suffering to new heights, although her biggest shock is yet to come.
I wanted to kill myself when I discovered her betrayal. She knew how much I loved Nate. He was my world and I worshipped him. And she knew what a miserable life I’d had before she and I became friends. When she befriended me in the dinner queue at our university halls, she restored my faith in human nature. At eighteen, I’d finally made a best friend. Someone who, unlike me, was stunning, but also funny and warm, and for the first time in my life I was happy, and I finally believed that not all successful, attractive women were stuck-up, manipulative cows. Never for a second could I have imagined that your wife was, in fact, the worst of them; capable of inflicting indescribable pain on those who loved her most. But I was wrong. And when I realized she’d had sex with my husband at your wedding, my heart shattered into a million pieces. The realization that my best friend, whom I trusted completely, was – behind all the smiles and gestures of affection – a compulsive liar; a wicked, disgusting Jezebel who had – without any hesitation or remorse, and for God knows how long – been sleeping with my husband was like a pain akin to grief.
Looking back, I’m not sure how I got through the rest of your wedding celebrations; through the evening reception, your first dance, talking to guests as if everything was fine and agreeing what a wonderful day it had been, and yes, of course, I was so happy for the new Mr and Mrs Donovan. And I don’t know how I stopped myself from standing up and announcing to your guests what an evil, cheating whore the bride was, and that your wedding was nothing but a sham. I can only imagine how delighted Miranda would have been. Especially as Duncan – in his usual undiplomatic fashion – had likened her to a goddess in her wedding gown while Miranda was standing right next to him.
But maybe, in my heart of hearts, I do know how I made it through. It wasn’t out of respect or sympathy for you, Greg, that I held back. It was purely because I was weak and lacked courage. And, I suppose, too overcome with shock.
I was quiet with Nate when we eventually retired to our room. He asked me what was up – can you imagine that, the unscrupulous bastard?! I remember cringing when he tried to touch me, get frisky with me, utterly repulsed by the idea, knowing that only a few hours ago he’d been inside her. I turned my back on him in our romantic four-poster bed at the luxury hotel you and she had taken over for what was supposed to be the happiest day of your lives; said it had been a long day, I was whacked and needed sleep. I think he was surprised because I rarely spurned his advances unless I was genuinely ill.
But I didn’t sleep, of course. All I could think about was him and her having an affair behind my back, behind your back. Fucking each other’s brains out. Wondering how long it had been going on, whether it had started before Nate and I were married, whether they’d screwed each other in Mexico on my wedding day. And I wondered how I could have been so naive, so stupid to think that a gorgeous, successful woman like her could have befriended someone like me. And I came to realize that I’d been a kind of pet project for her – some charity case she’d taken on because she’d always liked challenges, and so adopting me as her friend was just another challenge she’d set herself. Another boost to her massively inflated ego. Likewise, I remember thinking, was it really any wonder that a man like Nate – Chrissy’s male counterpart in terms of brains and beauty – would desire someone like her? I was nothing compared to her; how naive I had been to think he actually preferred a plain Jane like me over a stunner like Chrissy.
I thought about all the times in the past when pretty, successful women like her had got the better of me. Despite playing a few pranks on them here and there, I had submitted to their domination. But this time, I told myself things would be different because, unlike all the other times, I had truly believed Chrissy was my friend, and therefore her blanket betrayal of our friendship was unforgivable and had to be punished. Although I wasn’t sure how, I vowed to myself that I would get my revenge.
Of course, I knew how tough it was going to be, pretending to be her friend, acting normally around her and Nate, and you for that matter, plus still being ‘friends’ with Miranda, as if nothing had happened. But somehow, I found the strength to do so.
I know that she and Nate carried on their affair after you two were married because I hired a private investigator to follow them. He photographed them entering and exiting their shady fuck-fest hotels, snatching a quick passionate exchange in some car park or on a hotel doorstep. And I kept all this ammunition, locked it safely away in a box in my wardrobe, still not knowing how I was going to use it. All I knew was that there was no point throwing the evidence in her face because where would that get me? I wanted her to suffer in a big way and for a long time, and so when, three months later, she told me she was pregnant, not long after I received the devastating news that I couldn’t have children of my own and there was a possibility of Nate being sent to Hong Kong at some point in the future, it came to me.
Although it’s unfortunate that you, Greg, have had to suffer for her sins, it is what it is, and it couldn’t be helped.
As I gave Chrissy a fake hug, congratulating her on her pregnancy – despite seething with jealousy inside knowing that, once again, she had attained something I could never have, and yet craved with all my heart – I hatched the perfect plan that would destroy her charmed life. When the time was right, I would take the one person who was most important to her, as she had taken who was most important to me. And I would raise her as my own.
Her beloved firstborn, Heidi.