Dear Wife, I Hate You (by Josephine Mbanefo) novel Chapter 69

Lilith’s Pov

Why did I text Nolan?

No, seriously, why the hell did I text Nolan?

The moment I dashed into my room after witnessing that… horror show in the pool, the first thing I did wasn’t to scream or cry or even bleach my brain clean–it was to grab my phone, record a voice message, and send it to him.

What was I even thinking?

Now he probably thinks I’m insane. Or worse–drunk.

I groaned and slammed my face into my pillow, muffling a loud, long scream.

“Stupid,” I muttered against the fabric. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Why did I let my guard down? Why did I make myself look so… needy?

I rolled over with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, shaming myself into silence.

Forget it. Just sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Or maybe I’ll wake up in an alternate universe where people don’t screw each other in pools.

I peeled off my bikini with the kind of disgust you’d reserve for cursed objects, tugged my nightwear back on, and crawled into bed. I didn’t even get to swim. Not that I’d ever touch that pool again.

Gross.

Emily still wasn’t back. She must be out there living her best life with Maya. New best friend. New inside jokes. New everything.

It’s fine. I don’t share my best friend–but maybe… maybe Emily deserves her moment too. She’s been through enough.

I turned over, pulled the covers tighter around me, and forced myself to sleep.

***

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I wasn’t even sure what day it was.

My hair felt like a nest of regrets. My face was puffy. And the world just looked… grey. It was definitely a bad hair day. A don’t–step–outside kind of day.

Emily still wasn’t back. Great.

I shuffled to the bathroom, glared at myself in the mirror, and got to work. A quick bath, a battle with my toothbrush, and a full–on war with my hair. That comb almost broke, but in the end, I won. Barely.

By the time I was done, I looked slightly less like someone just released from prison.

I threw on something casual but cute. As I reached for the door, I paused.

The book club.

Nolan.

I actually smiled at the thought–genuinely smiled. I’ve always wanted to go to a book club. But I never had the chance, or the time, or someone to go with. And now Nolan made it happen… even after my unhinged voice message.

That was thoughtful. Like, dangerously thoughtful.

I shook my head, trying not to blush at the memory, and stepped out into the hall. I knocked lightly on Rose’s door.

She opened just as I was about to knock again.

“Oh, I was just coming to get you,” she said.

“I figured,” I smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”

She nodded and turned, and I followed her quietly to the dining room.

And there they all were.

Killian.

His mom and dad.

Maya.

Emily.

I walked in slowly, my expression unreadable.

But my heart?

Oh, my heart was already acting out.

I quietly slid into my seat at the dining table, trying to act like everything was normal–even though, inside, I was still internally combusting from last night’s poolside porn.

The table was too peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made you more aware of everything.

And then, bam–Killian’s mum broke it.

“Oh, my dear,” she said sweetly, her voice laced with something suspiciously mischievous. “You woke up late. We hope you’re fine.”

I nodded, keeping my voice neutral. “Yes… I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t. I was in pain. My thoughts were burning, my appetite was missing, and every time I accidentally looked at Killian, he was already staring at me. And Nolan? Nolan was sitting like a carved statue, unreadable, but oh–so–aware.

I shot Emily a subtle look. Let’s talk, please. Save me. But she didn’t get it. Or maybe she was ignoring it. She was too busy playing footsie and giggling with Maya like they were in some private romcom.

And then–just when I took a sip of water, trying to stay cool–Killian’s mother decided to drop a nuclear bomb:

“So, when are you two going to bless us with grandchildren?”

I almost died.The water went halfway down and halfway into the wrong pipe. I started coughing like I was choking on actual life decisions.

Killian’s dad chimed in, all casual:

“Yes, Killian. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Killian groaned. “I’m not ready to have that conversation.”

“Oh, but you need to,” his mum insisted.

And then, the most awkward, most deranged part of all…

She looked at me. Straight into my eyes.

“If he doesn’t want to give you children, force him. I’ll support you.”

What?

WHAT?!

“Uh… okay?” I stammered, blinking like I’d just stepped into an alternate universe.

Then came the silence. That suffocating, soul–snatching kind of silence. We all just resumed eating like nothing had been said. Like the words “force him” and “grandchildren” weren’t still ringing in my head like a trauma bell.

And my trauma? Wasn’t over. Because my brain–thank you, trauma brain–decided to replay last night’s X–rated pool scene in high definition. Their voices. The moans. The splash. I couldn’t unsee it. I couldn’t even look at the water jug the same.

Emily and Maya suddenly got up, laughing about something that clearly had nothing to do with me. And then, they left.

No glance back. No “Lilith, are you okay?”

No “Hey, let’s talk.”

Nothing.

I watched them go, my heart stinging. Emily had moved on. She had a new best friend. And honestly? I didn’t even blame her. It’s just… lonely.

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