My Blind Husband

Cherise felt a warm flush creep into her cheeks as she glanced at the scattered clothes, memories of the previous night flooding her mind like a rushing tide.

Quietly, she retreated to the bathroom for a shower, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon her. She couldn’t help but blame Mr. Whitlock for the predicament they found themselves in.

Why had he insisted on them listening to that recorder together?

In the end…

Ultimately, she found herself gravitating towards Damien of her own volition.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this entire debacle was not entirely her fault–Mr. Whitlock’s meddling had set this chain of events into motion.

After her shower, Cherise’s phone rang, signaling an incoming call from Mr. Whitlock.

“Mrs. Lenoir,” inquired Mr. Whitlock with a tone that held a tinge of apprehension, “Have you and Mr. Lenoir had the chance to peruse the recording I provided together, as I suggested?”

With a sardonic curve gracing her lips, Cherise responded, “Indeed, we have, Mr. Whitlock.”

“Mr. Whitlock,” Cherise continued, her voice tinged with a knowing edge, “It appears your spouse and Mr. Samson share a rather peculiar rapport; would you not agree?”

Taken aback by the revelation, Mr. Whitlock stammered, “How did you come to learn of my wife’s association with Samson…”

recording you submitted, was it not their voices

admonition, Cherise swiftly terminated the conversation, leaving Mr. Whitlock in

his office, Mr. Whitlock grappled with the unsettling

received feature his wife

one he had entrusted to Samson only the day prior…

flurry of realization, he hastily dialed a

“Good day, sir.”

of Samson’s voice, a woman’s somber tones echoed through the receiver, laden with grief. “I am his spouse. Sammy was involved in a vehicular accident this morning he didn’t survive…

his chair, the weight of his actions crashing

in more ways

scattered clothes and starting the washing machine before making her way

with a

so I prepared a nutritious breakfast for you,” Frances chirped. “What would you like to

options spread out on the table behind Frances–Italian, Western, meat, vegetarian… it was

the extravagance and struggled to find

she finally managed to ask, a hint of disbelief coloring her tone.

a tad

just let me know. As long as I’m