Page 4 of Ms. Mosley

I had discovered his infidelities. The first time I forgave him, thinking, “People make mistakes,” but this second betrayal was something I could not overlook. I firmly believed in the saying: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. I was quietly accepting that loss and moving on with my life.

Besides, this last affair of his had resulted in him getting a woman pregnant. This same woman messaged me this morning on Facebook, sending proof of her pregnancy—the ultrasound. She had reopened a wound that I thought I’d patched up pretty well. Something in her had to think I still wanted Martin because he was busy chasing me. She had a point to prove, but she didn’t need to keep laying it on thick; I was truly done with him. There was nothing he could say or do to fix this. She could have his dishonest ass.

Still, it hurt like hell. To give someone your heart and your best years, only to be let down and forced to start over again. It cut deep. Deeper than deep. The betrayal and pain from it had me struggling to navigate this new chapter.

The news of the woman being pregnant truly devastated me because at thirty-six years old, I longed for marriage and children. Before the infidelities took place, I found myselfquestioning why Martin and I hadn’t reached those milestones after so many years together. Now that I think about it perhaps this was God’s way of saving me from an extra headache. I had seen the struggles others faced after breakups—how children and divorces turned them into messy affairs. Fortunately, I didn’t have any baggage to carry.

After uncovering Martin’s latest affair, I discreetly set my plan in motion to move on peacefully. Last week, he came home and found that I was long gone. No kids. No paperwork to navigate for a divorce, I had packed up all my shit while he was at work and settled into my new place.

I dried the fallen tear from my eye, picked up my bath sponge, drenched it in Sugar Vanilla Body Gel, and took my time scrubbing. As the suds washed away, my thoughts drifted to the latest situation I faced.

I still smelled a hint of Prosper’s cologne. It no longer clung to me from him being so close, but it certainly lingered in my mind. And it wasn't just the scent.

The golds.

The tattoos.

His height.

His walk.

His complexion.

It was all engraved in my mind. I believed it should’ve been a sin for him to look that good and be my student.Mmm…I shook my head, trying to push him from my thoughts just as I had managed to get him the hell out of my classroom.

After my shower, I dried off and slipped into bed. Just five minutes into my loneliness, my hormones kicked in. It had been way too long since I had any intimacy. Once I discovered Martin’s first affair, I put a stop to us having sex. It was likely why he cheated the second time. But did I care? No. He had fucked up, and it was on him to jump through hoops and makeit right until I felt secure again. However, he didn’t improve the situation; he only made it worse. And so, here I found myself.

Feeling starved and deprived, I reached over to the nightstand and retrieved my trusty toy. Setting it to the highest speed, I parted my thighs, closed my eyes, and surrendered to the blissful moment. I bit my bottom lip as the deep vibrations sent my pussy spiraling out of control.

chapter three.

Nia’Rose

The next morning, I found myself stuck in my familiar, disheartening routine. As Beyoncé's ‘Lemonade’ album played softly in the background, I alternated between wiping my tears and reapplying foundation. In between, I sipped my coffee, desperately trying to muster some energy. It frustrated me that this breakup had such a hold on me, constantly sending my emotions on a wild rollercoaster ride.

My phone rang cutting through the stillness in my apartment. It was my big sister, Stephanie. One thing she was going to do was check in every single day, sometimes two or three times a day. Especially now with what I was battling. Being five years older than me, she was fiercely protective. Since our mother passed away when we were very young, we were raised by our father, and she stepped into that motherly role and did it beautifully.

“Hey, sis,” I answered, propping my phone up on the stand that rested on my vanity.

“Good morning, sis. You still over there putting on your face? Girl, you’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, rough morning. Ugh.” I sighed as I applied my mascara.

“I get it. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m so ready for this phase of my life to be over, Steph. I’m tired of crying like a little weak ass bitch.”

She snickered softly before taking a sip from her coffee mug. “You’re not weak. You’re human, sis. You were with that man for eight years. Give yourself some grace. At least you left his ass. Most women get trapped in a vicious cycle because they are too afraid to start over. Let’s start focusing on the positives instead of the negatives.”

This time, a wide smile spread across my face. I loved my sister deeply; her strength and guidance were a constant source of inspiration. I had never encountered another soul as beautiful as hers. She was a successful Behavioral Health Therapist, and I knew her patients appreciated her just as much as I did.

“Thanks, sis. I really needed to hear that.”

“Of course, you know I got you always. So… enough of that. Why didn’t you call me back last night, bitch?”

I couldn't help but laugh at her sudden change in tone. The therapist hat had come off fast this morning. Stephanie had a habit of talking shit when she wasn’t offering genuine support.

“Exhausted,” I gave her a half-truth. “I came home, showered, and fell asleep. My bad, girl.”

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