The Gates of Hell
One night, after Rowan had gone to take a shower, Abdullah seized her phone. His fingers raced through WhatsApp, searching for a thread—any thread—that would lead him to the "evil companion" who had been poisoning his wife's mind.
As he scrolled, he stumbled upon an unsaved number. The last message read: "Why have you stopped replying?"
He opened the chat, hoping to catch the culprit. He opened it, and oh, how he wished he hadn't. With his own hands, he had pried open the lid of his own grave. There, waiting for him, were the words of a desperate lover:
"Where are you, Rowan? My love, where are you?"
"Why have you stopped answering me? I miss you."
"Why aren't you replying anymore?"
The messages were sent on different days, stretching back weeks. Abdullah stared at the screen, re-reading those lines more than twenty times, but the ink of betrayal did not fade.
The Flight into the Void
It was clear. This wasn't a friend; this was a lover. He desperately looked for a misunderstanding, a mistake, a wrong number. But one of the messages had mentioned her name: Rowan. There was no mistake; only the cold, hard evidence of sin.
Abdullah replaced the phone as if nothing had happened and fled the house. He drove like a madman, fleeing from one death to another. He searched his soul for an excuse, a logical exit for his "Bronze Beloved," but he found no clean escape for her.
He drove aimlessly for over two hours until he found himself in a city he didn't recognize. He had to use GPS just to find his way home. By the time he returned, it was near dawn, and Rowan was fast asleep.
With trembling hands, he took her phone one last time. He photographed the romantic messages and the sender's number, securing the evidence before she could delete it and deny everything. Then, he crept into bed, knowing that life would never be the same again.
The Engine of the Heart
Days passed in a blur of agony. Abdullah avoided the house, returning only to eat lunch with his children before making excuses to leave again. He told Rowan he had to fix something broken in his car engine.
Rowan would wave him goodbye, unaware that what was truly broken was the "engine" of his heartbeat. The engine of the blood in his veins, his spirit, and his love was shattered.
Trust was choking to death, struck down by the bullets of betrayal—bullets for which he could find no reason, no excuse, and no explanation.