The Last Mistress's Wife

Halfway through the drive, I begin to feel a strange uneasiness crawling in my stomach.

It begins as a dull churn, then twists sharply until I can barely focus on the road.

This hasn't happened to me except for the time I was diagnosed with malaria. That was two years ago.

I slow the car and pull to the side, gasping for air and gripping the steering wheel tightly till my knuckles turn white.

Then the feeling to vomit hits hard. Fully opening the door, I lean on the car and throw up into the gutter beside the road.

My throat feels sore. A sudden headache emerges from nowhere.

My palms tremble as I clutch unto my knees.

A few people walking by turn to stare, some with pity, others with curious looks that tell they'd rather know what's going on than sympathize.

I take an unused tissue from the car and wipe my mouth with it.

Additionally, rinsing and patting my face with a small bottle of water.

My knees feel weak, but I force myself to stand upright.

“You're fine. Just keep going.” I assure myself.

Back in the car, I place a hand over my forehead to check my temperature. It's gone increasingly high to the point that my skin almost burns.

The discomfort within me is not one to be taken lightly.

When I arrive at Rivendell Schools, it is far from the closing time. In fact, they have just finished their second break.

A few non academic staff still lurk around the premises as my car rolls past, stopping at the parking lot.

One of them is able to recognize me the moment I step down. “Mrs. Warren?”

I smile, clearing my throat, which has gone sore. “I am. I'm here to pick up Grace and Amelia from school.”

She hesitates. “But classes aren't over, ma'am. In fact, they just concluded their second break.”

“I know.” I cut in, forcing a small smile. “It’s urgent.”

Something in my tone must have convinced her because she nods and runs off.

A few minutes later, my daughters come through the hallway, their little backpacks swaying slightly behind them.

They are not alone but with their mentor, who listens to my explanation and walks off.

Grace looks surprised, Amelia frowns noticeably.

“Mommy, why are you here?” Grace speaks to me for the first time in months.

I squat low, realizing how bad of a mother I had been.

“To pick you up, angels. We are going somewhere.”

Amelia tilts her head. “Where?”

I face her, brushing her curls away from her face. “You'll see.”

We walk back to the car, and I help them buckle up.

Starting the engine, I drive out of the school gates.

I drive farther than I can imagine. I have no exact place in mind, but I just want to get far from my past.

The silence in the car doesn't last long.

“Mommy, where are we going?” Grace asks the second time, now kicking her feet softly against the seat again.

“Somewhere safe, sweetheart.”

“Are we going to see Daddy?” Amelia asks innocently.

I keep my eyes on the road. My throat tightens.

“No.”

“Then where are we driving to? And where is Daddy? Why do you keep giving indirect answers?” Grace presses angrily.

She's beginning to throw tantrums, and I do not like it at all.

I pull the car to the side of the road and exhale slowly. There is no easy way to say it. But I just have to spew the truth.

“Mommy and Daddy won't be living together anymore. I think I'm divorcing him.”

“You think? Or you actually are!” Grace yells accusingly, and I have to look back to be sure I heard that right.

“Did you just yell at me?”

For a moment, they are silent. Until Grace's face crumples and uncontrollable tears stream down her feeble cheeks.

“I want to go home.”

”Me too!” Amelia weeps. “I want to go home! I want to see Daddy and Aunt Clara!”

The name makes my heart stop. My heartbeat races to the highest point. Never in my life did I think my kids knew who bore by that name.

“What did you just say?”

“Clara. Aunt Clara.” Grace chips in arrogantly. “She's nice to us. She comes to school three to four times weekly. She buys us ice cream and toys.”

“I'm sure you don't know she bought all the toys at home. Amelia loves playing them.”

Amelia nods vigorously, wiping the tears with her little hands. “Yes, and she told us to be good girls and not listen to you because you're mean.”

The world tilts for a second. I hold my head, hoping it doesn't fall off any moment from now.

I try processing each statement, but it doesn't make sense.

“She what?”

“She said you don't love us. That you're always sad because you don't like Daddy anymore. She says you'll try to take us away from him, and that's what you're doing. You are bad.”

The words stab me like knives, cutting deeper into my soul. I turn off the ignition completely and face them, my heart pounding.

“Listen to me.” I beg. “Clara, or whatever she is called: she's not telling you the truth. She's…”

I'm yet to finish speaking when Amelia chips in with a shout, her small face scrunched up in anger.

I never knew my little angel could become so furious over a matter.

There are so many things I do not know about my kids.

But they have to listen to me.

“She's nice! You never take us out. You never buy us burgers and things. You only weep and stay indoors. Aunt Clara plays with us every time she comes!”

“You know she's your dad's mistress, don't you?”

“We don't care. We hate you. Take us back. We want to go home.”

The sound of that word, ‘hate,’ crushes me. My eyes burn with unshed tears.

I have endured Richard's betrayal, but hearing my own children defend his mistress is something else entirely.

“Okay, girls. I understand.”

Finally, I reach for my phone and call Martha. But a maid picks up instead.

“Yes, Ma'am?”

“Please send some of the guards to my location. I'll text the address. Let them pick up the kids and take them home.”

She hesitates for a while, stuttering in fear. “But Madam, something just happened.”

“How do you mean?”

Her voice lowers to a whisper. “The Boss just arrived with the mistress, Miss Clara. They came together. And it seems she's moving in permanently.”

I close my eyes. “Still send a guard. The children want to go back.”

The call ends, and I sit back, numb.

Half an hour crawls by, and I check the rearview mirror, hoping to see any familiar car, but nothing as such.

Finally, my phone buzzes with the same call from the maid. I pick it up, placing it to my ear.

“What is the problem?”

“I’m so sorry, ma'am. The boss gave orders. The guards aren't allowed to leave the mansion.”