After the cappuccinos had cooled and the atmosphere had grown heavy with emotion, Sophia finished her story, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a napkin. Linda sat quietly for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup as she watched her friend. There was a strength in Sophia's face—one carved from struggle—but it was beginning to crack.
Linda made a swift decision.
"Go and get your baby," she said gently but firmly. "I'm giving you the keys to my apartment. Go there and wait for me. I'll be back soon."
Sophia blinked in confusion. "Wait... what? Where are you going?"
Linda reached into her bag and handed her a keychain. "To your husband's house."
Sophia's eyes widened in alarm. "Linda, no. What are you planning to do?"
Linda stood, her expression unreadable. "Relax. I'm not going to cause a scene. I just want to ask him a question. That's all."
Sophia hesitated, her hand clenching the keys. "Please... don't let him humiliate you too. He's not worth it."
"I'll be fine," Linda said, already pulling on her gloves. "What's his address?"
Sophia gave it reluctantly. Linda memorized it, nodded once, then turned to go. She walked briskly out of the restaurant, fastened her helmet, climbed onto her bike, and revved the engine. The roar echoed through the street as she rode off.
It didn't take long to find the house.
A sleek, modern building with expensive stone finish and overly trimmed hedges. It screamed of vanity and new money. She parked her bike near the curb, removed her helmet, and marched up to the door. With no hesitation, she rang the doorbell.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the door swung open.
A young woman stood there—early twenties perhaps—dressed in a tiny satin robe, her makeup heavy, her hair curled into glossy waves. Her gaze flicked up and down Linda's figure, unimpressed.
"Hello?" the woman said, voice laced with boredom.
Linda gave her a polite, cool smile. "Hi. I'm here to speak with Sophia's husband."
The woman's brows lifted. A wicked smirk crept onto her face. "Sophia? Oh—" she let out a dry laugh, "—you mean that outdated little bitch?"
Her voice was sharp with cruelty. "Point of correction, sweetheart. He's my husband now."
Before she could finish her smirk, Linda had already taken a step forward and shoved her aside with enough force to send her stumbling against the wall.
"I won't take long," Linda said flatly as she walked into the house.
The woman gasped but didn't stop her. Inside, the place was cold and overly polished, lacking the warmth of a true home. Linda's eyes scanned the living room and found him—Sophia's ex-husband—lounging on a leather couch, beer in hand, eyes half-glazed from either exhaustion or indifference.
He looked up when he heard her footsteps. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm a friend of your wife," she said coolly.
His eyes narrowed. "Ex-wife. Infact, a curse I should have never seen."
Linda walked in slowly and stood at a distance. "I just came to ask you something."
But before she could begin, the woman in satin came strutting in behind her, clinging dramatically to his side. "Babe, she pushed me! I don't know what kind of friend Sophia keeps, but this one's got issues."
He waved her off but didn't stand. "Whatever this is about, make it quick. I've had enough drama for one lifetime."
Linda kept her tone steady. "Why did you throw your wife out? Why abandon her and your child like garbage? Were you ever even a man to begin with?"
He scoffed. "She was dragging me down. Complaining all the time, never satisfied. I gave her everything."
The mistress giggled behind him. "He really did. She just didn't know how to keep a man."
Linda's fingers twitched. "She gave you a child. She believed in you. And you repay her by shacking up with a glorified mannequin who doesn't even know how to button a proper shirt?"
The woman gasped. "Excuse me?!"
The man stood now, his face turning red. "You need to get out of my house."
"No," Linda said calmly, "not until I've said what I came to say."
"Say it and get out!" he barked.
"Why didn't you at least try to work things out with her? She loved you. She needed you. And now she's on the street, suffering, while you sit here in your silk bathrobes and cheap pride—"
"Enough!" he roared, crossing the room.
And then he slapped her.
The sound cracked through the air like a whip. Linda's head snapped to the side. Her cheek stung as the room tilted in brief shock.
The mistress let out a delighted gasp and clapped once, laughing. "Oh my god, finally!"
Linda didn't move for a second. She stood there, one hand to her face, her eyes staring at the floor.
Then, slowly, she raised her head.
Her expression had changed. Cold. Calm. Like still water moments before a storm.
And then—wham—she kicked him hard, right between the legs.
He gasped, his knees buckled, and he stumbled backward, groaning as he crumpled into the couch.
Linda didn't flinch. "That's for Sophia," she said, voice like steel.
As he writhed in pain, trying to breathe, she turned to the mistress, who now looked less smug.
"You—" Linda said, stepping closer.
The woman raised a hand in defense. "Don't come near me!"
Linda didn't stop. One clean punch to the nose sent her crashing onto the floor, blood gushing.
"You're not even as pretty as I thought," Linda muttered, stepping over her. "This man is so blind."
And with that, she turned, fixed her coat, walked straight out the front door, and slammed it shut behind her.
Back on the street, she climbed onto her bike and roared off, wind pressing hard against her face. Her chest heaved with frustration. The confrontation hadn't solved anything, but it had released something.
A few streets down, the wind picked up suddenly, growing wild and cold. Suddenly, it started raining. She saw a clothing shop and pulled over to the sidewalk. Parking the bike, she removed her helmet and held it in one hand.
She stood there for a moment, her jaw clenched, trying to steady her thoughts as the wind whipped her hair into her eyes.