Beneath The Surface...

 Dear Readers,

You can't play a person that genuinely loves you. You can try to manipulate their feelings, twist their emotions, or even disguise yourself in a veil of deceit. But love, real love, isn't a game.

Sidney's phone buzzed softly, the familiar glow piercing the darkness. It was another message from Layla, her words dancing on the edge of innocence: "Hopefully December." On the surface, it seemed simple, a friend making plans. But Sidney knew better. Beneath the pleasantries, Layla was setting the stage for another secret rendezvous.

Layla's husband was asleep in the next room, snoring softly, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring right under his nose. She glanced at the clock, her fingers trembling with anticipation as she typed, "Maybe this time we could spend more time with the kids again." It was a perfect cover, invoking the family to hide her true intentions. But Sidney wasn't fooled, and he played along, stringing her along with vague promises, "Not sure."

Layla's pulse quickened. She knew what that meant-Sidney was leaving the door open, waiting for her to make the first move. It was a game they had played for months, each text a prelude to their dirty little secret. She sent another message, casual yet loaded, "Lovely".

Will wait to meet up then." Her heart raced as she typed, "In the pool this time." She could already imagine it: the cool water around their bodies, muffling their gasps and moans as they tangled together, hidden away from prying eyes. Sidney's reply was quick, "Yeah" It was more than an agreement; it was an invitation. The emoji was their unspoken language, a symbol of everything they shared that her husband didn't know, and would never know.

As the days inched closer to their planned meeting, Layla grew restless. She went through the motions with her family, but her mind was elsewhere Sidney, on the pool, on the way his hands would roam over her skin. Her husband tried to engage her, asking about her day, and making plans for the weekend, but she was distant, and distracted. She feigned a smile, made excuses, and slipped away to send Sidney more messages, her thumbs moving faster, more desperate.

On the day of the rendezvous, Layla told her husband she was taking the kids to visit her parents. She packed their bags, kissed him on the cheek, and lied straight to his face without flinching. "I'll see you tonight," she said, her voice sweet, her eyes betraying nothing.

But instead of driving to her parents' house, she dropped the kids off with a friend, then sped off to the hotel where Sidney was waiting.

They didn't waste time with pleasantries. As soon as she stepped into the room, Sidney pulled her close, his hands rough and hungry, and she melted into him. It was messy, and frantic, their bodies colliding like they hadn't touched in years.

For Layla, it was a high she couldn't get anywhere else. It wasn't about love or passion; it was about escaping, about having something that was hers alone, a dirty little secret she kept locked away. As she writhed beneath Sidney, she didn't think about her husband or her kids; she didn't think about the lies she'd have to tell when she got home. All she cared about was the rush, the thrill of doing something she wasn't supposed to.

Later, as she lay tangled in the sheets, her phone buzzed. It was a text from her husband, checking in, asking if everything was okay. She smirked, then picked up her phone and replied, "Everything's fine, honey. Miss you." Sidney watched her, a knowing smile on his lips. They both knew she didn't mean it.

That night, as Layla drove back, she replayed the events in her head. Her lips still tasted like Sidney's, her skin still tingled where his hands had been, but she slipped back into her role effortlessly, greeting her husband with a warm smile when she got home. He never suspected a thing.

She was like the woman in the silhouette, clutching desperately to something, but it wasn't love— it was the thrill of deceit, the excitement of betrayal. And Sidney? He was already drifting, turning away, looking for his next conquest. Layla didn't care. She would do it all over again, lie to her husband, sneak around, and chase that high. Because for her, that was real, raw, and unfiltered. And as long as she kept it hidden, as long as no one found out, it didn't matter how filthy it got.

Despite all that has happened her husband still loved her and prayed for her well-being. Now that’s called real LOVE.

Little did she know “Her Sins Will Seek Her Out…”

God Save Us All…

Jacob M