Love Gone Hollow

By the fifth year of my marriage to Noah Lester, everyone insisted that I, Emma Newman, was his eternal muse.

But I knew the truth.

Behind my back, Noah cycled through a parade of fresh-faced, eager lovers. He even flaunted them at social gatherings, swapping one for another with shameless ease.

When friends teased him—"Didn’t you swear Emma was the love of your life? Why the revolving door of mistresses?"—he’d just laugh, arms slung around his latest conquests.

"Once you’ve caught your muse the glow fades. Give me someone new and tender any day—at least they keep things exciting."

So I began plotting my escape.

What Noah never realized was that I had grown tired of him, too. Tired of this life, of these performances.

I was done.

I was carrying a lunchbox to Noah Lester’s office.

It was already late at night, and the building had emptied hours ago.

Only the lights in Noah’s office still burned brightly.

The sharp click of my heels echoed down the hallway, but it couldn’t drown out the soft moans coming from his office.

He and his new secretary hadn’t even bothered to shut the door properly.

I could clearly hear their voices.

“Mr. Lester,” she purred. “You’re always so rough with me. Tell me—am I the one you love most?”

Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw Jill Spencer draped across his body.

He must’ve been drinking as his words were slurred, but I couldn’t tell how much of what he said was true.

“Love you? Don’t be ridiculous. I just like doing you. The one I love most is obviously my wife.

“She’s my muse—my first love, the one I cherished in my youth. She’s the love of my life. No one will ever come close.”

I stood frozen in place.

My hand gripped the doorknob, but I couldn’t bring myself to push it open.

How ironic.

Here I was, witnessing my husband’s infidelity with my own eyes, while he whispered declarations of love for me.

My heart shattered into pieces. I bit down so hard on the inside of my cheek that I could almost taste blood.

Noah had made a vicious oath the day he proposed to me.

“If I ever betray Emma Newman, let me die a horrible death—hit by a car, choked on water, drowned in the bath…”

But I hadn’t let him finish.

I’d cut him off, laughing as I looked up at him with eyes full of trust.

“If you ever betray me, I’ll punish you in my own way! I hope you never live to see that day, Noah!”

He used to hold me close with such tenderness, always saying that day would never come.

And I believed him.

I never imagined the man who once sacrificed his health to save my life, the man whose hair turned half-gray before thirty from donating his bone marrow to me, would ever betray me.

Ten years of love.

Ten years of lies.

And now, Noah, you’ve outdone yourself.

“I don’t believe it! The person you love most can only be me! How could it possibly be that sickly woman you have at home?”

Jill sobbed into his chest, her voice trembling through her tears.

“That sick woman of yours can’t even satisfy you. How could you love her?”

Noah, clearly moved by her outburst, softened his tone to soothe her.

“It’s you, alright? It’s you.

“You women are all the same—so much fuss over a few words.”

Jill quickly looked up, her face a mixture of tears and laughter.

She climbed onto his lap and began to move slowly against him, gently biting his earlobe.

“This isn’t fussing,” she whispered. “It’s a battle between women.”

But just as she settled in, Noah’s hand shot up and clamped hard around her throat.

“You can throw as many tantrums as you want in front of me, demand anything you desire, just don’t let my wife find out about us.

“You know what’ll happen if she does. You’ll wish you never met me!”

I stood in the shadows outside the office, watching the scene unfold, and suddenly, I laughed.

If I didn’t know any better, I might have believed this man actually loved me.

So this was it?

Because my body was weak, because I couldn’t satisfy him in bed, Noah thought that justified cheating?

Strangely, I didn’t even feel the urge to barge in and confront him.

Instead, I quietly raised my phone and took a few photos, then turned and walked away, lunchbox in hand, without making a sound.

Behind me, Jill’s choked whimpers filled the air.

"I-I understand, Mr. Lester! I was just talking nonsense—I’d never tell your wife!"

"Good girl."

His chuckle dripped with condescension.

"That’s why you’re my favorite."

The moment his moans of pleasure echoed into the hallway, I quickened my steps, fleeing as if the walls themselves were poisoned.

Just as I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

[Mrs. Lester, did you enjoy tonight’s performance? If not, I’d be happy to throw in a few more acts—free of charge!]

Expressionless, I typed out a reply: [Noah warned you just now. Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you contacted me?]

[Mr. Lester is lying exhausted on top of me right now. He’s got no energy to think about anything else.

[But Mrs. Lester, you’d better prepare those divorce papers soon—unless you want to be thrown out with nothing but your pride.]