My Daughter Died While You Were Cheating

I fell for my best friend’s rival. The day I finally confessed, my best friend’s eyes went red, her face shifting through a kaleidoscope of shock and betrayal. In the end, she forced out a tight, biting, “Congratulations.” But afterward, she turned all her focus on Reid. She sparred with him academically, then ruthlessly sabotaged him in the corporate world. I thought she resented him for stealing the top spot in my life, the one she’d always coveted. It wasn't until our fifth year of marriage that she and Reid slept together. I screamed. I cried. I begged. But they only escalated their cruelty. Eventually, I was exhausted. I chose to walk away and grant them their twisted peace. Years later, I returned home for a Stanton University alumni event. A strange little boy tumbled into my arms, his face a startling, miniature replica of Reid’s. Our former class president laughed upon seeing us. “Is this yours and Reid’s kid? I always knew you two had a spark, even back then.” He chuckled conspiratorially. “I used to joke that even though you were always bottom of the class, you had a best friend who was number two, and a boyfriend who was number one!” I was about to correct him when my old best friend, Blair, rushed over, grabbing the boy and clutching him tight. “Finn! Why did you run off? You scared Mommy half to death!” Reid was right behind her. He froze the moment his eyes landed on my face. “Sierra, you’re alive?” 1 Blair’s head snapped up, her expression a mask of pure, visceral shock. To them, I had been lost at sea five years ago. Drowned. I offered them a slow, distant smile. “My luck held out. I just swallowed a lot of saltwater.” Blair, ever the quick study, regained her composure instantly. She shook the little boy in her arms gently. “Finn, this is Aunt Sierra. You should call her Godmother.” We'd once promised that if we married, we'd catch each other’s bouquets, and if we had children, we’d be the godmothers. The boy, Finn, shyly whispered, “Godmother.” I didn’t acknowledge it. Turning to the class president, I simply said I had an appointment and prepared to leave. The president, sensing the toxic atmosphere hanging over the three of us, was eager to see me go. Reid, however, was determined to follow. “Sierra, where are you headed? I can drive you.” Blair’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly, but she said, “Yes, it’s not safe for you alone. You don’t even drive.” I inwardly scoffed. After all these years, she still saw me as the helpless, flighty girl. But a free ride was a free ride. On the way, Reid kept peppering me with questions about my life. I kept my answers clipped and minimal. I told him I was rescued and survived. I told him I’d been living overseas, selling my art. I was back now because a long-time buyer wanted to meet in person. Reid’s voice suddenly climbed an octave. “Man or woman? Are you sure they’re trustworthy? You need to keep your guard up.” I didn't spare his feelings. “Friends I’ve known for years aren’t trustworthy. A husband I shared a bed with isn’t trustworthy. How, then, can I judge a stranger?” Reid fell silent. Blair’s face turned an ugly shade of gray. When we arrived at my place, I got out, collected my bags, and then turned back toward the car, stopping beside the little boy, Finn. He had Reid’s eyes and Blair’s mouth. The moment I reached a hand toward him, Blair reacted, pulling Finn tight into her chest, her eyes wide with terror. “What are you doing? You want my child to pay for your revenge? He’s innocent!” Reid warned my name, his voice low and dangerous. I simply reached out and plucked a small, hard fruit stone from Finn’s lips. “I was afraid he’d end up like my child—choked and suffocated, with adults right there, too blind to save him.” Their faces went white. The silence was absolute. Back inside my home, I checked my messages. Mr. Albright had confirmed our meeting. He genuinely admired my work; over the years, he’d observed every new piece I created, even if he didn’t buy it. I was back for him, yes. But I was also here to finish a much older, darker piece of business. I met Mr. Albright in a quiet, upscale coffee shop. He looked to be in his late fifties, with a kind, reserved face. “Ms. Wyatt,” he said warmly. “I see so many stories in your paintings. They make me deeply curious about you.” He paused, looking around the nearly empty shop. “Would I be privileged enough to hear some of them?” I nodded. 2 In high school, I was still Sierra Wyatt, the spoiled heiress who had no worries. While my classmates were pulling all-nighters and drowning in stress, I was only interested in painting and partying. Reid, however, was the polar opposite. He was the undisputed number one student—brilliant, disciplined, and politically adept. At first, I found him utterly pretentious. Then Blair arrived. She came from a poor background and was fiercely academic, working a job every evening to help her family. I was impressed. I convinced my father to establish a scholarship specifically for students like her. I wanted to keep it anonymous. But the teacher, in front of the entire class, made a point of announcing my donation and forced Blair to bow and thank me. Looking back, I believe that public moment of forced gratitude was when Blair started to resent me. But I was oblivious. I poured my heart out to her, treating her like the sister I never had. Blair’s biggest aspiration was to beat Reid and claim the number one spot. But Reid was an insurmountable fortress. She was always second. After yet another loss, Blair broke down crying. To cheer her up, I tried everything I could think of. “It’s okay,” I’d announced dramatically. “I’ll just start dating Reid! I’ll distract him, ruin his grades, and you can finally win!” Reid, passing by, scoffed. “Sierra, you’re too clueless. You don't even know how to flirt. Need me to show you how?” And that’s how we ended up together. My senior year was the year my life shattered. My father’s business went bankrupt, and he killed himself. In my deepest despair, Reid and Blair were my anchors. Reid swore he would take over my father’s role, promising to be the one person in the world who would always love me. Blair let me stay in her tiny apartment and worked tirelessly to tutor me. I pulled myself together. I started studying like my life depended on it, and by the time the SATs arrived, I was confident I could get into a decent college. Then the accident happened. Despite checking and double-checking everything, I couldn’t find my No. 2 pencil for the Scantron sheet. Leaving the testing center, I slapped myself, convinced I was the most utterly worthless person alive. Again, Reid and Blair were there. They encouraged me until I moved past the trauma. They both went on to Stanton University, the country’s best. I decided higher education wasn’t for me, so I took a job bussing tables near campus. Reid would come straight from class to help, and soon, customers assumed he was the employee. He constantly talked about our future. We’d marry right after graduation. He’d earn enough money to buy me the best art supplies and keep me a carefree, sheltered art patron. But I felt a creeping sense of insecurity. I begged Blair to keep an eye on Reid for me. Blair looked at me with an unreadable, deep expression, a forced, unnatural smile pulling at her lips. I remember feeling smug, thinking I was successfully “showing off” my perfect relationship. I urged her to start dating, too. “No need,” she’d said. “I already have someone I like.” It took years to finally understand that smile, and to know exactly who that person was. It was already too late. 3 Reid and I married right after he graduated. But reality was far harsher than his dreams. He worked himself to the bone to earn money, coming home exhausted every night, collapsing into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. To ease his burden, I learned to cook, clean, and manage the house. I had never realized how much labor was involved in keeping a home. The endless cycle of meals, laundry, and cleaning. They were all small things, but stacked together, they were enough to drown me. By the time the financial pressure finally eased, our daughter, Skye, was born. I named her Skye, wanting her to be calm and serene. But she was a whirlwind of energy, always crying and restless. Every night, I had to walk the length of the living room, holding her, for hours until she finally drifted off. By the time I slipped into bed, Reid’s hand would be reaching for me. “Honey, it’s been too long since we…” Despite my physical and emotional exhaustion, I dutifully submitted. But the moment of climax was always ruined by Skye’s first whimper. I’d instantly push Reid away, scrambling naked off the bed to comfort her. I never saw the look of pure annoyance on his face as he lay behind me. Life had successfully chipped away at the clueless princess, turning me into a killjoy of a housewife. For my birthday that year, Reid brought home the most expensive set of oil paints. I glanced around the house. “We’re out of diapers,” I said flatly. “You should have bought diapers.” Meanwhile, Blair was carving a bloody path through the corporate world. She and Reid joined the same firm, and she clung to her old rivalry, fighting him at every turn. And she was still losing. Once, she prepared a flawless presentation, grinding on the pitch for weeks, but the CEO still chose Reid’s plan. Blair called me, sobbing hysterically. “Why can’t I ever beat him, Sierra? Why? After all these years, can’t I just win once?!” I shot Reid a dirty look, preparing to go comfort her. But Skye wrapped herself around my legs, refusing to let me go. I resignedly sent Reid instead. “She’s a woman drinking alone at a bar; it’s not safe. You caused this mess; you clean it up.” Reid’s hands paused on the remote. He looked at me, a searching quality in his eyes. “Are you sure you want me to go?” “Of course.” Reid looked like he was making the most momentous decision of his life. “Fine,” he said. He turned back and looked at me several times before walking out the door. I didn’t sense the earthquake coming. I was just there, cooing at my daughter, telling her silly stories. The true catastrophe began that night. Reid never came home. When he finally returned the next morning, I was already cooking. He mumbled some excuses about Blair being a drunken mess and how he'd been so exhausted getting her back to her place that he just passed out on the floor. His tone was calm and believable. Blair was my best friend. I accepted the lie easily. In the days that followed, Reid’s “overtime” and “business trips” became more frequent. At first, I assumed the company was just busy. Then, I started to notice things. A foreign hair on his jacket. A strange, sharp perfume that wasn't mine. Finally, when I found a discarded, opened condom wrapper in his pants pocket, I knew. He was cheating. Shattered and enraged, I drove to Reid’s office and staged a scene. I cried, I screamed, I lay on the floor, demanding he name the woman. Reid’s face was pure disgust. “Sierra, I provide for you! I put a roof over your head! I let you be a homemaker so you didn’t have to worry about a thing, and this is how you repay me? By making baseless accusations?” He pulled out his phone, flipped on the camera, and pointed it at my face. “Look at yourself! What do you look like right now? A hysterical shrew!” 4 On his phone screen, I saw a stranger: my hair was a wild mess, my skin sallow. My outdated dress was stained with unwashed grease spots. Behind me, the female employees were immaculate, their makeup perfect, their business suits crisp. They radiated the aura of competent professionals. Their stares were a mix of pity and contempt. Blair emerged from the crowd. “Sierra, don’t make a scene. This is pathetic.” Reid yelled, “Let her! She just wants me to get fired so the whole family starves! Go on, do it! Start a live stream! Let everyone see!” It was then I realized I had no ammunition left. I’d been out of the workforce since high school. With just a high school diploma, I had zero leverage. If I divorced him, he’d easily win custody of our daughter. A cold clarity washed over me. I crawled up from the floor. “I’m done. I’m going home.” After that day, I became subservient, terrified of provoking Reid. He grew bolder—lipstick smudges on his shirt were common. Yet, I clung to him, desperately afraid he would abandon me. My only defense was Skye. I tried to use her to appeal to his vanishing affections. Reid did love his daughter, though. When he wasn’t busy, he would even take her to the office. One afternoon, he took her again. I finished my chores and started scrolling through my phone. Purely by chance, I stumbled across a viral thread. The title read: The Rivalry: Years of Hate, Decades of Lust. I clicked it open. The first line hit me like a physical blow: “No one understood that the eternal runner-up didn’t want the top spot—she just wanted the number one student’s attention.” My heart plummeted. My mind flashed. I raced to the rest of the post. “After losing to him at work again, I went to a bar to drink. He came to comfort me. He asked what I needed. I told him to kiss me. And he did.” “From high school until now, he rejected my advances ten thousand times. But on the ten thousand and first, he accepted. I took him home, and we spent the night making up for all that lost time.” “The top spot I could never reach finally became my conquest.” I felt the blood drain from my body. Blair loved Reid. Reid’s mistress was Blair. I lost all control. I tore to Reid’s office and barged into his suite. Groans and muffled sounds were immediately audible from the inner office. I kicked the door open. Blair was sitting on Reid’s lap, their clothes in disarray. Blinded by fury, I grabbed every object in sight and hurled it at them. A ceramic figurine struck Blair on the forehead. She started bleeding. Tears streamed down my face. If Reid’s betrayal was a freezing wind, Blair’s was a total annihilation of hope. “We were best friends! How could you do this to me?” Blair wiped the blood from her temple, her gaze icy. “I never considered you a friend.” Her voice was flat. “You were a spoiled, useless girl. All you were good at was condescension and charity.” “I hated you from the first day we met.” I tried desperately to deny it. “If you hated me, why did you take me in after my dad died? Why did you tutor me?” Blair laughed—a harsh, empty sound. “Because I like to fatten the rabbit before the slaughter. Why do you think you checked for that No. 2 pencil so many times and still didn’t find it? I took it outside the testing center!” “What?” The ground fell out from under me. Blair giggled, lightly shaking Reid. “We have a witness, don’t we, R.J.? You saw me take the pencil, didn’t you?” Reid’s face stiffened. He looked away. “Don’t be shy! You didn’t tell Sierra back then, which is how I knew—you’ve always loved me.” Suddenly, my circulation seemed to reverse. My limbs went limp. I nearly collapsed. “I’m going to—I’m going to report you…” Reid’s face darkened. “Sierra! Enough! Think about our daughter!” Then his expression shifted. He started looking around frantically. Our daughter? Skye? She was supposed to be here. We checked the security footage. We found Skye’s body hidden under the coffee table. While Reid and Blair were engaging in their sordid affair, they’d left Skye alone with a bowl of dried fruit. Skye choked on a hard fruit stone. She pounded on the door, trying to call for help, but her desperate pleas were drowned out by their ecstatic sounds. She tried to reach the water glass on the table, but she was too small. She died silently, just a few feet away from her father. When I finished telling the story, there was a stunned silence in the coffee shop, followed by muffled sobs. Mr. Albright sighed heavily. “I had no idea you’d endured so much, Ms. Wyatt.” He looked at me, heartbroken. “Five years have passed. Do you still hate your ex-husband?” I took a slow sip of my coffee, a subtle smile touching my lips. “Is that all Reid Jefferson—or rather, your employer—wanted to know?” Mr. Albright froze, his professional composure shattering. “What employer? I don’t know what you mean.” I walked past him and approached a patron who had been sitting quietly at a corner table the entire time. I reached down and pulled off the man’s surgical mask.

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