Have You Ever

  Eliot Hart was the kind of man people noticed. Six-foot-two, with silver-flecked dark hair, tailored suits, and a gaze that made boardrooms hush and investors lean forward. He had built his real estate empire from a single run-down apartment he refurbished on weekends—nail by nail, plan by plan—while holding down a full-time job and raising two toddlers with Olivia, the woman he’d loved since he was twenty. He lived in a world draped in glass and power, where luxury whispered and temptation roared. Banquets hosted in sky-high penthouses, poolside parties spilling with champagne and laughter, women whose smiles were invitations and eyes full of curiosity— what would it take to win the attention of Eliot Hart? But the truth was, they never stood a chance. His wedding ring was more than gold. It was a promise wrapped around his finger, warm with memory. He wore it like armour. He’d see them. The assistant who lingered too long near his office, her laugh a shade too bright. The...

The diary sat there, carelessly abandoned on the desk—open, exposed, almost inviting discovery. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was intentional. Either way, the words on the page were waiting. You hadn’t gone looking. You hadn’t snooped. You had simply existed, placing your things down, only for your eyes to fall on a sentence so blunt, so undeniable, that it might as well have been shouted in the room. "I slept with him last night. It was the third time." Three times. Not a slip-up. Not a single moment of weakness. A pattern. A choice, repeated over and over—hidden behind whispered conversations and stolen moments. And yet, when you said it—when the words left your lips—she denied it instantly. No hesitation. No guilt. Just a knee-jerk response, a reflex as natural to her as breathing. "What? No." But the truth was right there, inked on the page in her own handwriting, in her own private confessions. When denial didn’t work, the real game began. The shift...

  It started as a quiet ache, an unease lurking just beneath the surface, easily ignored in the moments when life felt familiar and stable. But guilt has a way of creeping in—slowly at first, then all at once, until it colours every thought, every memory, every decision that led to this point. The weight of his choices sat heavy on his chest. What had once been impulsive, fuelled by fleeting emotions and fractured logic, had now become an undeniable reckoning. It was never meant to spiral into something this profound, this consuming—but the past has a way of lingering far beyond its expiration date. Facing his wife was the hardest part. The betrayal was done, the truth laid bare, but consequences move differently than regrets. They don’t dissolve with apologies or grand gestures. They sit in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the looks exchanged but never spoken aloud. He had hurt her. That much was undeniable. No matter how he framed it—whether it was loneliness, confus...

  Last summer, I found myself wrapped up in something that felt exciting—something that felt right. I had been crushing on him for a while, and when we finally started seeing each other, it was like stepping into a daydream. There was a little voice in the back of my mind, though—nagging, questioning. I knew he had been with someone else before me, and even though he reassured me that they had ended things, something inside me hesitated. Still, I silenced that doubt. I wanted to believe him. Summer passed in a blur of moments with him, fleeting but full of energy. Then he moved to Johannesburg for work. We hadn’t put a label on anything, but I thought we still had something—something unspoken but understood. I believed that whatever we had wasn’t completely over. Until one day, at work, I casually opened Instagram—and there it was. A picture of him and her. Not just together but  living together . In Sandton. In an instant, everything unraveled. The doubt I had pushed aside...

  She thought she was walking into forever. Seven years of love, of laughter, of believing she had found the person who would stand beside her through everything. Seven years of building a life, trusting, planning—only for it to all come crashing down in just one month. One month of marriage. One month before the illusion shattered. She found out the truth in the most devastating way—her husband, the man she had just vowed to love for the rest of her life, had been sleeping with her maid of honor. The woman who had stood beside her at the altar, who had adjusted her veil, who had held her hand while she nervously prepared to say “I do.” Betrayal never announces itself gently. It barges in, rips through everything, and leaves nothing untouched. The realization was suffocating. Every memory, every late-night conversation, every moment she thought was sacred between them—was it all a lie? Had they been laughing at her all along, behind her back, while she planned a future they h...

' ' All I want to do is wake up next to you?  '' My reflection on this promise carries such an evocative mix of nostalgia, passion, and heartbreak. In my words, the dream of simply waking up next to that special someone becomes so much more than a routine; it embodies the hope, intimacy, and the fearless vulnerability of a young love. The memories of talking on CB radios until dawn, building a life with shared promises, and creating a home full of small, cherished details paint a picture of a time when love was an all-consuming force, often unburdened by doubt or interference. Yet, as life often does, circumstances intervened.   I only want to be with you..... wake up next you always.... the years passed in loving bliss, life happened. The call that shattered the tender illusion—a reminder that distances can foster both opportunity and disconnection—steals you back to a moment when promises made in youthful intoxication gave way to harsh realities.  Then the call cam...