Her Best Friend Bragged Online About Having A Secret Family With Her Man Chapter 01

Her Best Friend Bragged Online About Having A Secret Family With Her Man Chapter 01

I scrolled past a trending post: Who is the person you’ve wronged the most?

One reply, in particular, caught my eye.

Probably my best friend. But honestly, I blame her husband—he is exactly my type in every single way.

The moment she introduced us, I fell in head over heels.

During our Graduation Party, I got them both wasted and hooked up with him. That girl didn’t know how good she had it..

Afterward, I lied and told her I moved abroad. In reality, I’ve been living in the neighboring state of Oakhaven, raising our baby.

Her husband visits us all the time now. The three of us are a very happy family.

Technically, I’m not a “homewrecker” because the marriage certificate her husband signed with me is the real one. We just never had a formal wedding.

I don’t think it’s shameful to be brave for love. I hope none of you give up just because the person you love is already taken!

Below the reply was a photo of a man and a woman with their fingers intertwined.

The faint, thin scar on the man’s wrist gave him away. The protagonist of this story was my husband, Julian Thorne.

*********

I stared fixedly at the screen, at that photo of intertwined hands.

Their faces weren’t visible; there were only two overlapping hands.

The woman’s hand featured a delicate French manicure. The man’s hand was well-defined, with long, elegant fingers.

On the inner side of the man’s pale wrist was an extremely faint, thin hypertrophic scar, looking like a pale centipede dormant beneath the texture of his skin.

Others might not have noticed such a detail, but there was no way I could be mistaken.

Because I was the one who snatched that scar and that life back from the grip of Death.

Julian and I were childhood sweethearts.

From elementary school through high school, we were always in the same class.

Back then, Julian wasn’t the sophisticated, suave CEO in a tailored suit he is today.

He was gloomy, withdrawn, and timid, like a mushroom growing in a dark corner. He always kept his head down, his bangs covering his eyes, never speaking to anyone.

The boys in class isolated him, even bullied him. I was the only one willing to play with him.

I would retrieve his textbooks when they were thrown into the trash; I would split my sandwich with him when he went hungry.

In the eighth grade, his parents went through a nasty divorce. His violent father took all his rage out on him, resorting to constant physical abuse.

Julian fell into a deep, severe depression.

I still remember that stormy afternoon.

Worried about him, I climbed over the fence into his yard. Through the first-floor bathroom window, I saw a scene that nearly stopped my heart.

Julian was lying in the bathtub, the water dyed a piercing, vivid crimson.

On his wrist was a deep, bone-chilling gash made with a box cutter.

I smashed the glass, rushed in recklessly, used a towel to tie off his wrist with all my might, and sobbed while calling 911.

By the hospital bed, he was as pale as a sheet of paper. He looked at me with hollow eyes and asked, “Sera, are you going to throw me away, too?”

I held him, crying, and swore: “I want you, Julian. I will never, ever leave you.”

From then on, I became the only light in his life. I accompanied him to psychiatrists, sat with him while he took his meds, and stayed by his side through countless dark nights when he contemplated suicide.

That scar was the brand of his depression, but more importantly, it was the medal of our shared survival.

After high school, we naturally became a couple.

Though we attended different universities in the same city due to our majors, four years of university didn’t dilute our feelings. After graduation, we got married and have been together for four years since.

He treated me with a devotion that went to his very core. He would personally brew hot chamomile tea with honey for me whenever I was on my period; if I so much as frowned, he would be anxious for hours.

I always believed I was the luckiest woman in the world.

Until tonight, when that familiar scar appeared in a most absurd and cruel fashion—in a post by a woman claiming to be “pregnant with her best friend’s husband’s child.”