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“Rumors thrive in uncertainty but die in truth.”
― Martin Uzochukwu Ugwu

“Cut the bullshit. Your little ingénue act---it's pathetic."
Her words sock me like a punch in the gut. As much as I hate lying to her face, as much as I've been dying to tell her the truth, to have it out once and for all in a big, messy fight, I'm not sure I'm ready for this. The steely look in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw---she'll crush me.
"Okay. Fine," I say, the courage building inside me. I can do this. I have to. "Let's cut the bullshit, then." My eyes drift toward her cabinets. "Maybe we should talk over a glass of wine. Unless that would be bad for the baby."
I wait for her to take the bait, but she just stares at me.
"There is a baby, right? You wouldn't make something like that up. Only a crazy person would do that. Only someone who was truly horrible, all the way to her core."
She clenches her jaw. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes, I do. And you know it."
"Watch yourself."
"Why? So you can steamroll me like you steamroll everyone? You don't even love him."
"You have no idea how I feel. About anything."
"I know your marriage is one of convenience. That you sleep in separate bedrooms. That you're having an affair with a guy named Jacques."
"And I suppose that makes you an expert on my love life."
"No, but it means I know you don't have Hugh's interests at heart."
"What do you know about his interests? You think you can parachute in, five years into our marriage, and decide you understand how or why any of this works? You think a month or two of screwing means you know more about him than I do?"
"I know he doesn't love you. I know he never did."
"Well, la-di-da. Here's a newsflash: It takes more than love to make a relationship work."
"But you can't really make a relationship work without it, can you?"
"You can if you want to."
"Only if both people do. And Hugh doesn't. Not anymore."
"Is that so? Then tell me, why did he just spend more than a week with me, discussing our future?"
"Because you created a phantom pregnancy without consulting him? Because he's trying to do damage control?"
"Ah, I see. Is that what you keep telling yourself?"
My face grows hot. "It kills you that he'd choose me over you."
She throws her head back and cackles. "Is that what you think? That he'd choose you? Christ, you're even more naive than I thought."
"He loves me," I say. "He said so."
"You know what else he loves? His career. And how do you think you fit in with that? Let me answer for you: You don't."
My hands are shaking. "What about you? You're having an affair with some French guy named Jacques. How do you think that will play with Hugh's constituency? Let me answer for you: Not well.”
― Dana Bate, Too Many Cooks

“B.S., I Luv You by Stewart Stafford

Bite that lying tongue in your cheek,
Shaman's mask to play hide-and-seek,
A whirlpool vortex being, so deluded,
Tarantuled me in, my senses denuded.

Checking blood banks - Yes! You got paid!
A sociopath's shameless, sick parade,
In sycophant shade, carrion crows convene,
Alibis caw over a cadaver's gangrene.

Botox sessions ended frowned,
Dredge up memories when you're around,
Bury your drained victims, vampire creep,
From oozing floorboards, vile secrets seep.

Communing with nocturnal revelry,
Hog feast at a bonfire of hypocrisy,
Scapegoating ends in mirrored past,
In tumbling runes, flaws naked, cast.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford