I felt sick; and I had been sick a couple of times in the afternoon at work and really wanted to go home and lie down. Confounded new phone kept losing signal and going off-line, I couldn't get to talk to my husband. Didn't matter I'll see him at home.
Not sure what it was; something I ate? Something I was coming down with? It certainly wasn't me being pregnant; I had been on the pill for over four years. All I knew was that I wanted to go home and die.
I told my boss I was not well and wanted to go home. I left about two hours early; on the way home I thought I should visit the pharmacy and see if they could recommend something for me. I passed a mall on the way home, I didn't really feel like doing so, but I thought I'd better stop in there for something.
I parked and headed straight for the pharmacy. Through the mall to the pharmacy I passed a lot of restaurants and on that day the sight of food made me nauseous. I paid little attention through the glass fronted restaurants.
I got to the counter in the pharmacy and I was sick, I threw up onto the floor. The manager was very helpful and had the place cleaned up straight away without any fuss. He asked me into a side room to check me out and see I was okay.
He recommended me with some stuff and let me rest there for a while. I took the medicine he had given to me and lay on a bed. I fell asleep; half an hour later he came and checked up on me and I felt a little better, no more feeling of wanting to throw-up.
I felt I was okay to go home and told him so. I walked out and back towards my car, I had to pass the glass fronts again. As I passed one place, I had to take a couple of steps back to check that I was wrong.
I wasn't, it was my husband, fucking bastard was with some girl. He's supposed to be at work! He was lightly patting his hands on hers which lay flat on the table. He was totally oblivious to his surroundings and blatantly had not noticed me there - I carried on and got home.
We, my husband and I had been married for three years; we got married on my twenty first birthday. I was his white English rose, he was Jamaican. He was twenty two when we got married. We got married here in England, his mother and father came over for the wedding and then a year ago everything changed.
My parents retired young; dad was well-off with his automotive company. They relocated their home to Spain. And then three months later my husband's father lost his job and came here to England and found a job as a ship builder. By then he was widowed and had been for two years. He was looking for a place of his own. So in the meantime we said to him that he could use the spare room in our place.
My name is Nichole, but everyone calls me Bunny, cause of my soft bubbly nature. I have curly blond hair; I'm nearly six foot tall and seventy two kilo's. I'm slim and people have called my build athletic.
I got home and I ran and sobbed in my bed. I did not realise that anyone would be at home. But my father in law was; Salt, my father in law's nickname was Salt. That was what everyone called him because of his skin tone. He was not a dark black like most Jamaicans and his son; his was lighter, not an albino, but just very light.
I lay on my bed; not feeling well, but worse was what I had seen. My world was at an end, what was he doing with her? Who the hell was she? How long had it been going on for? I tortured myself with grief - tears ran down my face like a river.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and was taken aback, a voice said, "Bunny, what's up, why the tears?"
It was Salt; I had not heard him come in. I turned to face him and my eyes were full of tears, his face out of focus. I sobbed loudly and he again asked, "What's wrong, what happened?"
I could not speak; no matter how hard I tried no words would come out of my mouth. Salt gently caressed my head, from forehead to the back; he still asked the questions I had no real answers for.
He brought me a glass of water and some more tissues. I had got up and was sat on the edge of the bed; Salt came and sat beside me. He put his arm around me and hugged me gently and he asked again, "Tell me Bunny, what's the matter? What's upset you so much? I've never seen you like this."
For a second I thought about telling him, but I knew what Salt was like, he would have killed his son. Salt loved me like a daughter and I knew it.
Salt was a big man, and for his age of fifty one, he was strong, muscle bound and he was six foot four inches tall. My husband, his son, did not take after Salt in his stature and physic; just Salt's facial good looks were passed onto his son.
I said nothing to Salt; I sat there and just sobbed. He stopped asking after a while and said, "Come down, I'll make you a cup of tea."
He left me with a kiss to my fore-head. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. I still felt total anger within, but had managed to control my outer self, for a while at least.
I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, Salt had a nice hot cup of tea ready for me, he had put out some cookies on a plate as well.
He sat across the table from me and he asked, "You okay?"
I said nothing, I nodded. He pushed the plate of cookies closer to me and he said, "Have something to eat, it'll make you feel better."
I shook my head and said, "I've got an upset tummy, I've been sick. That's why I'm home early."
He looked straight into my blue eyes and said, "Okay, but that's not why you've been crying."
I shook my head again and looked down, I drank my tea. I knew I had to talk to my husband first, to know for myself what the truth was.
That night I was going to confront him, but I still felt really unwell and did not have the emotional nor physical energy. He came home late, no real explanation and we went to bed, he wanted to cosy up to me, but I said, I was not in the mood and still felt weak.
I did not want to cry in front of him; he would have known something was up. So I sobbed lightly into my pillow. I did not sleep well that night and I didn't go into work the next day.
The day after that was the day we had planned to go away for a short four day break, arrangements for that had been made five weeks ago. I thought that that's when I'd ask him.
I felt much better and we set out in the morning and it took us two hours to drive to our hotel. We went for a walk and I just could not bring myself to start with the right words. It was very awkward as I did not let him hold my hand nor kiss me nor touch me without me having an excuse.
Then before we went down for dinner we had got changed and I was sat at a dressing table, he was behind me. He came and placed his hands on my shoulders and said, "Ready Bunny!"
I looked at his face through the mirror in front of me and my reflex action was to shake off his hands from my shoulders, and as I did he said, "What the fuck's up! You've been miserable all fuckin' day."
That was it; that lit the blue touch paper in me. A sudden and immediate fiery rage took hold of my body. I shot up quickly and as I turned I slapped him extremely hard. My fingers tingled and my hand print came up on his face instantly.
He almost stumbled and fell. He looked up at me with his hand on his face and a look of shock he said, "What the hell was that for, are you mad?"
I was just full of rage, I said, "You bastard, I saw you... with her."
He still with a shocked look said, "What are you talking about! You are mad!"