If Only He Knew

After work, Markus happily followed Summer home. The drive was quiet, but there was a lightness between them—something that made Summer feel like things were finally getting better. Once inside her house, they made love, laughed, talked, and lost track of time, completely unaware that Monae had followed them there.

Sitting in her car down the street, Monae gripped the steering wheel tightly, anger and heartbreak battling across her face. She’d thought she and Markus were fixing things. She thought he still wanted his family. But seeing him walk into another woman’s house—that was too much.

She stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind her, and marched up to Summer’s front door.

The sound of her fist banging against it echoed through the quiet neighborhood.

Inside, Summer froze. No one ever came to her house this late. She quickly threw on her robe and rushed to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw Monae—eyes wild, excited to finally show Monae that he was his, after all.

“Markus!” she yelled in alarm.

He came running from the living room as Summer opened the door.

“Hey,” Summer said cautiously, forcing a small smile.

Before she could say another word, Monae’s fist connected with her face. Summer stumbled backward, shocked. Markus grabbed Monae’s arm, stepping between them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Markus shouted.

Monae’s voice cracked as she screamed, “You’re cheating on me again! And with her? Are you serious, Markus?

I have three of your kids! How could you do this to me again?”

Markus tried to calm her down, his voice firm but low. Summer, still shaking, backed into the kitchen. The world around her was spinning. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe.

Without thinking, she grabbed the first thing her hand landed on—a butcher knife and went over and stabbed Monae in her arm.

She stepped forward, her voice trembling. “Get out of my house!”

Monae turned toward her, stunned. “You— you just stabbed me?” she gasped, clutching her arm.

Markus backed away, eyes wide. “Summer—what did you—”

Monae lunged at her again, shoving Summer against the wall. The impact knocked the air from Summer’s lungs. She slid down, crying out in pain as Monae kicked her again and again. Furniture crashed. Glass shattered.

Neighbors heard the commotion and called 911.

Monae finally stormed toward the door, breathing heavily. Markus rushed to Summer, who was bleeding from her mouth and nose, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, running to the kitchen for paper towels. He dampened one and gently pressed it to her face.

Then came the sound of sirens in the distance—a faint but growing wail that brought a wave of relief over them both.

But before help arrived, the door creaked open again.

Monae stood there, face streaked with tears, eyes glassy with fury. Time seemed to freeze.

Markus turned toward her. “Monae—wait—”

A single deafening sound split the air.

Markus collapsed.

Summer screamed, the world blurring as she looked up at Monae, whose hand was trembling. “Markus loves me,” Monae said through tears. “He loves me and only me.”

Summer’s voice was barely a whisper. “Please, don't!” She put her hand over her face.

Another shot rang out.

Then silence.

By the time the police burst through the door, everything was still.

Three lives—shattered in one night.