My studio is my sanctuary. A soft hum of spa music, the gentle scent of lavender and eucalyptus, the quiet promise of an hour’s escape. People come to me for peace, for relief. I pride myself on creating that space. Then she walked in. Early twenties, maybe. Hair perfectly coiffed, a designer robe cinched at her tiny waist. And that lipstick. A vibrant, aggressive red that seemed to scream for attention. She definitely stood out from my usual clientele. She smiled, a little too wide, and held up her phone. “Mind if I get a quick pic? For my boyfriend. He just loves seeing me relax.” I nodded, a faint unease settling in. It was an odd request, but I was a professional.
As she lay down on the warmed table, she sighed dramatically. “Finally. I’m going to relax.”
“Too much stress?” I asked, beginning to warm the oil in my hands.
“TOO MUCH!” she declared, her voice surprisingly loud for the serene environment. She laughed, a bright, slightly abrasive sound. “Honestly, my boyfriend is divorcing his wife. It’s been a whole thing.”
I kept my hands steady, focusing on her shoulders. My first thought was poor woman. My second was why are you telling your masseuse all this?
“Oh, she’s so boring,” she continued, oblivious. “I mean, truly. No makeup, just works, cooks, cleans. He says she’s just… faded.” She snorted. “He’ll keep the house, obviously. She’ll keep the kids. I mean, good for her, but I am NOT raising someone else’s brats.”
The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. My hands paused, hovering over her spine. Boring. No makeup. Works, cooks, cleans. A cold, insidious dread began to crawl up my neck. He’ll keep the house… she’ll keep the kids… MY breath hitched. No. It couldn’t be. My mind reeled, trying to connect fragmented pieces, words my own husband had muttered in arguments, subtle shifts in his behavior.
Then her phone buzzed on the small side table, vibrating with a cheerful chime. She glanced at it, a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, I’ll answer later. It’s him.”
My eyes, burning, narrowed on the screen. A picture flashed – HIS FACE. His smile. The one he reserved for special occasions. The one I hadn’t seen directed at me in months.
My blood ran colder than ice. EVERY SINGLE WORD she had just bragged about, every callous dismissal of a woman’s life, every detail of a future she’d so confidently outlined – it all came crashing down around me. A tidal wave of betrayal and ice-cold rage.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a microsecond, regaining my composure. My voice was a whisper, dangerously calm. “No, dear,” I said, my fingers finding a pressure point on her neck, just beneath her ear, pressing down with calculated intent. “Please. Answer. It’s your boyfriend calling. Or better to say…” I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a deadly hiss, “MY HUSBAND.”
Silence. Thick, oppressive silence. Her body went rigid beneath my hands. The serene music suddenly sounded like a mockery. Her eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief, then morphing into dawning horror as she processed my words, my tone.
Then she tried to sit up. Her body strained, but she couldn’t. A look of terror flooded her face. She pushed harder, her arms tensing, but her muscles wouldn’t obey. Panic flashed in her eyes.
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!” she screamed, her voice cracking, utterly stripped of its earlier bravado. “I CAN’T MOVE! YOU— YOU DID SOMETHING!”
I held her gaze, a grim satisfaction spreading through me. Oh, honey. “You’re not going anywhere, not yet,” I murmured, leaning in close again, my voice now a venomous lullaby. “Not until you hear it all. The ‘boring’ wife? The one who works, cooks, cleans, raises ‘someone else’s brats’? THOSE ARE MY CHILDREN, sweetheart. MY children. And this house you want him to keep? It’s my home. OURS. You see, I recognized the plan. The casual cruelty. I recognized his voice from the calls he’d ignore in front of me, the whispered excuses.”
My grip on her neck tightened, just enough to be a promise, not a threat… yet. “That muscle relaxant I put in the oil? A little extra kick. Just enough to ensure you stayed still, stayed here, and listened to the woman you so casually tried to erase. The woman you just called boring.” I watched the realization flood her face, the horror of her paralysis, the utter devastation of being trapped, exposed, before the woman she had so easily dismissed. And I knew, in that moment, she would never forget my name.
