After the Affair
Part 1: The Kristopher Brown Story
Written by Sarah Markham-Hall
Based on Real Life Events
Important Notice: This novel includes content unsuitable for individuals under the age of 16. The material encompasses, but is not limited to, strong language, drug use, sexually explicit content, suicidal attempts, and violent themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Legal Disclaimer: The events and particulars depicted herein are drawn from the recollection, imagination, and personal diaries of Sarah Markham-Hall. Certain scenes are fictionalized and dramatized for content and may not accurately reflect the true sequence or occurrence of events. Names and locations have been modified to safeguard the privacy of individuals involved. No harm or injury was inflicted upon anyone during the writing of this novel.
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Prologue
September 2015
As my hands clenched the steering wheel, I found myself praying to a God I had never once believed in, desperate for everything to just stop. All I wanted was to rewind time, to return to that warm July day in 2010, and somehow alter the chain of events that had spiraled into the nightmare my life had become. As I drove toward Justin’s house, knowing deep down what he would say but clinging to the fragile hope that I was wrong, I couldn’t escape the overwhelming wish to go back—back to a time when everything was different.
I know this might sound insane to some, but I’d give anything to relive those high school years. If I could trade the last five years for another chance to live through those moments, I would do it without hesitation.
I’d give anything to return to the days when I was terrified of James Black, when the fear of ending up in prison on drug or murder charges was a constant shadow. I’d give anything to be back in the rear seat of Justin’s silver Honda Civic, the cold blade pressed against my wrist as they both threatened to tear my world apart. As twisted as it may sound, I’d trade the last five years with him for those dark, dangerous days in a heartbeat.
It’s as if those moments, despite their madness, held a truth and intensity that I can’t find anymore. Back then, every breath felt like it mattered, every decision was a gamble with everything at stake. Now, I’m just lost in a reality that feels too numb, too empty.
Was my life really that bad right now though? Had things truly become so unbearable with him? He had never raised a hand against me, never once threatened my life, never loomed over me with the promise of prison if I dared speak of our secrets. Compared to Justin and James, he seemed like a saint. Yet here I was, aching to undo it all, to erase every moment I’d spent with him. Sometimes, I found myself wishing he would hit me, wishing he’d leave bruises and scars on my skin, because maybe then the confusion I felt would finally make sense.
He didn’t need to be physically violent to break me. He chipped away at me piece by piece, until I was a shadow of who I once was. He didn’t scream, but his words cut deep, leaving wounds that never healed. He never isolated me physically, but somehow, I found myself more alone than ever, trapped in a life that felt like a prison without bars.
With every passing day, I lost a bit more of myself, buried under his expectations, his silent disapproval, his constant need for control. He never had to say it outright, but I knew—I wasn’t enough. Not for him, not for the life he wanted, and certainly not for the person I used to be. I became someone else for him, molded into the image of the perfect wife, but in the process, I lost the woman I once was.
Justin was a drug dealer, a manipulative and evil man, yet in this moment, I’d give anything to be back in his arms rather that of the man I’d been calling my husband for the past five years.
With Justin, there was chaos, danger, a constant edge that made me feel alive, even if it was in fear. But with my husband, there was only a slow death, a suffocating silence that drained every ounce of vitality from me. I used to be passionate, fiery, ready to take on the world, but now I was just… hollow. Empty. He had taken that from me, not with fists, but with words, with neglect, with the subtle, poisonous drip of emotional abuse that left me doubting myself, questioning my worth.
So yes, it’s twisted, but I’d trade this life of quiet despair for the storm of my past in a heartbeat. Because at least in that storm, I knew who I was. Now, I’m just lost, a shell of a person, wandering through a life that isn’t mine, wondering if I’ll ever find my way back.
As I walked up the driveway to Justin’s house on the affluent south side of Lakeworth, he greeted me at the door with a wide smile. “Ms. Mathews!” he exclaimed, his voice full of warmth and familiarity. Ever since I started making weekly trips from my current home in Las Vegas to continue working for Commissioner Ford, Justin and I had seen more of each other in the past six months than we had in years.
“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling me into an uncharacteristically tight hug.
Justin wasn’t usually the hugging type. In fact, he rarely showed this kind of affection, but after our late-night phone call the previous evening, he had every reason to be concerned. “I’m okay,” I replied as I stepped into his luxurious five-bedroom, two-story home—a place he probably used no more than eight weeks out of the year.
“You don’t call up your best friend at two in the morning, crying your eyes out, and not expect me to worry about you,” he said as we settled onto the couch in his spacious living room. The vaulted ceilings soared above us, and the air had that distinct scent of wealth and privilege, the kind that comes with a life few ever get to experience.
If there’s one thing everyone was right about, it’s that my heart and soul will always belong to Justin Lenox. He was my first everything—my first love, my first sexual experience, my best friend. He was my soulmate in every sense of the word. If it weren’t for his undeniable infatuation with men, I have no doubt we would have ended up married.
But let’s not romanticize things too much—Justin wasn’t a nice guy. Those of you who have read Affair of the Mind know exactly what kind of person he is. He was never meant to be the hero of this story; in fact, he played the role of the villain all too well. Beyond being my first sexual experience, he was also the first man to hit me, to belittle me until I felt like nothing more than a speck of dirt. He was the first to shatter my heart and toss it aside as if it meant nothing. And he was the first to call me crazy and lock me behind bars, all with a smile on his face.
Justin was ruthless. He manipulated people and twisted situations to get what he wanted. He was selfish, playing with the emotions of the men he dated as if they were mere pawns in his game. He was cruel, plain and simple. If our story ended with Affair of the Mind, Justin Lenox would forever be remembered as the not-so-nice best friend of Ann Mathews, a villain cloaked in charm and deceit.
But time has a way of softening even the hardest hearts. Marriage and the thought of family can change a person, and Justin was no exception. If I were to describe him today, I’d say he’s become a wonderful, loyal husband who is bound to make an incredible father one day. Despite everything, he remains my best friend, the kind of friend who would drive over three hours just to make sure I was okay.
Life is complicated, and so are people. Justin Lenox may not have been the hero of our story, but he’s become something more complex—someone who has grown, who has changed, and who, despite all the darkness in his past, is still the one person I can rely on. That doesn’t erase the pain or the cruelty he once inflicted, but it does add another layer to the person he’s become. And maybe that’s enough.
“You didn’t have to come all this way, you know. I’m fine,” I insisted, though we both knew I was lying.
“You can’t fool me, Ms. Mathews. I see right through your bullshit!” Justin laughed, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of sarcasm and concern. “So, when are you finally going to ditch his sorry ass and come live with me?” he asked bluntly, as only Justin could.
“I’m never going to live with you. Remember, that’s our rule. That’s why we work so well together!” I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
The truth was, the last six months had been a personal hell. Moving to Las Vegas, Nevada—or at least attempting to—had been a mistake. A colossal one. Justin was right about that; I should have gone left instead of right. But at the time, I was too caught up in the whirlwind of my life to see it. The only glimmer of hope I had left was my job. That three-hour drive to Lakeworth every week, working for Commissioner Ford, was the only thing keeping me tethered to some semblance of sanity. It was my escape from the grim reality I had found myself in.
If I’m being perfectly honest, I never should have married him. But when I look back at the pages of Affair of the Mind, it’s painfully clear why I did. He was everything Justin was but couldn’t be. He was my version of Justin Lenox, the man I desperately wanted Justin to be. And despite every rational thought, despite the warnings from everyone around me—hell, even Justin himself tried to talk me out of it—I went ahead and married him anyway.
At the time, it seemed like the perfect solution. Justin, with all his flaws and complexities, was never going to be the partner I needed. So I found someone who was, or at least who I convinced myself could be. But as the months dragged on, it became obvious that I was trying to mold someone into a role they were never meant to play. And in the process, I lost a part of myself.
Justin knew it too. He saw it happening long before I did, and though he tried to save me from making that mistake, I was too stubborn to listen. Now, I was paying the price, trapped in a life that felt like a constant battle between what I wanted and what I actually had.
“I wish I had gone through with kidnapping you five years ago,” Justin laughed, his tone light but his eyes serious.
“Sometimes I wish you had,” I replied with a small, bitter laugh.
“What’s your game plan, Ms. Mathews?” he asked, his voice softening. “You always have a game plan.”
“I don’t have one this time,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the words as they left my lips. “When I left Bobby, it was simple—no marriage, no ties, just a clean break. But with him… it’s different. We built a life together. You don’t just walk away from that.”
“He’s a drug addict and a cruel person, Ms. Mathews,” Justin said bluntly. “You have no children, and financially you’ll be fine. So what’s really holding you back?”
“I love him,” I said quietly, though even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.
“People fall in and out of love all the time,” Justin replied, his gaze unwavering. “But don’t you want someone who loves you back, 100%? Don’t you want someone you don’t have to constantly worry about, someone who can stand on their own without you picking up the pieces? Don’t you want to stop dreading where he is going to get his next oxy fix? Don’t you want a life, Ms. Mathews? A real life, where you’re not carrying the weight of someone else’s addiction on your shoulders?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew he was right. Every argument we’d had, every tear I’d shed over his addictions, every time I’d covered for him at work or with my family, all of it flashed through my mind. But it wasn’t just that. It was the slow, insidious erosion of who I was—of the vibrant, independent woman I used to be before I became entangled in his web of lies and dependency.
“I don’t know if I can just walk away,” I whispered, more to myself than to Justin. “We’ve been through so much together. He wasn’t always like this.”
“But he is now,” Justin said, his voice gentle but firm. “And you deserve better. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, who doesn’t take you for granted. You deserve a life where you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder.”
Deep down, I knew Justin was right. I was clinging to a life that was slowly suffocating me, a love that had turned toxic long ago. Yet, I wasn’t ready to let go. “Yes, I want a life, but leaving him isn’t that simple,” I replied, letting out a deep sigh.
“Why not? You keep moving the goalposts! First, you said you’d leave him after the holidays, then when the holidays came and went, you pushed it to after his surgery. Then it was after your surgery, and after that, it was the election. What’s the excuse now? Are you staying until the lease is up? Until Grandma passes? Until your parents are gone? And then what? At some point, the story has to end.”
“We both know how the story ends,” I said quietly, the weight of those words sinking into my chest.
“Maybe so, but the pages in between are still unwritten. And those pages don’t have to end with him,” Justin replied, his voice firm but filled with concern.
“Is that seriously all my life has become? Some fucking book with blank pages between the beginning and the end?” I sighed, feeling the frustration and sadness mix into a heavy lump in my throat.
“Well… you do have a knack for getting yourself into situations that make for a hell of a story,” he said with a small, knowing smile.
“Shut up!” I said, playfully swatting his arm. “This goddamn book is filled with nothing but sex, lies, and drugs. Ironic, huh?”
“It is,” he replied, his smile fading into something more serious. “But you’re the one holding the pen, Ms. Mathews. You get to decide how this story goes. And it doesn’t have to be filled with the same old pain. You can write a different ending.”
As the silence stretched between us, Justin finally addressed the unspoken issue. “So, how bad is it?” he asked, his tone serious.
“How bad is what?” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I know you came here to ask me for drugs,” he said bluntly. “The doctor cut off his oxycodone prescription last week. So, how bad is it?”
“He has a few left, but by the weekend, he’s going to be crashing hard,” I admitted.
“No, that’s not what I’m asking about,” Justin pressed. “How bad is your addiction?”
“My addiction?” I echoed, taken aback.
“Yes, Ms. Mathews. Your addiction to oxycodone.”
I could never keep anything from Justin. He was a world-renowned hacker—something we hadn’t exaggerated. While he might not be an official FBI agent with a badge and a gun, his skills were just as formidable. He could hack into any system in under five minutes and compile a complete life history within half an hour. Trying to hide anything from Justin Lenox was like trying to keep a butterfly from emerging from its chrysalis.
He saw through me with an accuracy that was both impressive and terrifying. It was as if he could peel away the layers of pretense and self-deception with a single glance. And now, faced with his piercing scrutiny, I had no choice but to confront the truth I had been trying to avoid.
I had to admit it: I had developed an infatuation with those little white, or sometimes pink, pills. Snorting a line or two in the afternoon was my crutch on the worst days. Ironically, the girl who once scoffed at mental disorders and drug use was now becoming the very stereotype she had always despised—an oxy-snorting, depressed, suicidal mess. It seemed Justin was right; I had a knack for landing myself in situations that made for a compelling story.
“I’m not addicted,” I said, though my voice wavered. “I can stop anytime I want.”
“I’m sure your husband says the same thing,” Justin said with a wry smile.
“Fuck you, Lenox!” I shot back, frustration spilling over.
“So, you didn’t come here to ask me for drugs?” he inquired, his tone now more probing.
“Look, I just need five pills to get me through the weekend. I’ve got a ton of things to handle—starting with packing. I just need five,” I pleaded, my voice tinged with desperation.
“Listen, I know I’m the drug dealer, but my rule has always been that I don’t use the stuff myself,” Justin said firmly.
“Come on, Justin! It’s just five pills! That’s all I’m asking for. I swear I’ll never ask you for any more after this. I’ll even pay you for them,” I implored, my desperation clear.
Justin’s gaze remained steady, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps sympathy, or maybe concern. It was hard to tell. But his stance was unyielding, and I knew I was running out of options.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Justin chuckled, shaking his head. “What happened to your morals? You used to be the girl who said drugs were bad and that mental illness was just in your head. And now look at you!”
“I met my husband. That’s what happened!” I shot back, my anger flaring as I stood up from his couch.
“Exactly!” Justin said, his voice rising. “And now you’re the pot-smoking, oxy-snorting drug addict you used to claim to hate.”
“Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” I yelled, grabbing my purse and heading toward the door.
“I’m not an asshole, Ann. I just tell you the truth, whether you want to hear it or not,” Justin said, following me with an air of finality. He grabbed a piece of paper off his kitchen counter and handed it to me. “I won’t support your drug habit, and I won’t condone it. If you want the pills, you’re going to have to find them on your own.”
I glanced down at the paper, which had a number written on it.
“I’m sure you’ll call that number and get your fix. You’ll have a decent weekend until the drugs inevitably spark another fight with your husband, and then you’ll call me, crying and swearing you’ll never do oxy again,” Justin continued, his tone laced with weariness. “You’ll go through this cycle until, one day, you finally decide to stop. I can’t make you stop, Ann. I can’t make you see that you have a problem. But when you do decide to stop, I hope you know that I’m here for you.”
“Fuck you, Lenox!” I snapped, taking the paper with a roll of my eyes as I stormed out the door.
1 month later
As I sat at the top of the stairs in our two-story rental, which would no longer be ours in less than 48 hours, tears streamed down my face. My husband lay in the other room, finally asleep after a grueling 24 hours, struggling to come down from the oxycodone high of the past weekend. With the clock ticking down and the rental needing to be packed and moved in just two days, I felt overwhelmed and unsure how I was going to manage it all on my own.
“I can’t do this,” I sobbed into the camera during a FaceTime call with Justin. “I just can’t. I want to grab Charlie and run. I don’t even know where I’d go, but I just want to run away and never come back!”
“Oh, Ann!” Justin’s voice was filled with concern. “Look at me!” he demanded, his tone firm.
“What?” I asked, my eyes bloodshot and red as I stared at him through the phone.
“You can do this!” Justin said, his voice steady and encouraging. “You just need to find the courage within you to get up off those stairs, finish packing, and get the hell out of there! You’ll be back in Lakeworth in two days, and everything will be okay. You’ve got this!”
His words, though urgent and forceful, were like a lifeline thrown into the chaos. They gave me a glimmer of hope, a reminder that I wasn’t completely alone, and that maybe—just maybe—I could summon the strength to see this through.
“Come on, Ann! You’ve been through far worse!” Justin urged. “Remember when I put you in juvie for two weeks? You survived that. Packing a few boxes and getting out of there is nothing compared to that!”
“Ironically, I’d give anything to go back to juvie right now,” I said, my voice tinged with despair. “This place feels worse than prison. Maybe it’s my punishment for everything we’ve done.”
“No, Ann! Stop it right now!” Justin’s voice was stern. “You’re going to be okay! You need to get up, get your shit together, and get out of there! Look at me!”
“Yes?” I sighed looking at him through the phone.
“Get back home, and we’ll figure out the rest,” he said firmly. “You can do this!”
“I can do this…” I echoed, struggling to lift my weary body off the cold stairs. In less than two days, I’d be back home, and the nightmare that had become Vegas would be behind me. But as I faced the uncertain future ahead, I couldn’t help but wonder—would moving back to Lakeworth truly solve anything, or would it simply be trading one set of problems for another?