I Know My Wife Is Cheating On Me

ENTERED INTO THE 750 WORD PROJECT 2024

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"Don't forget to buy eggs, ok? I'm off to work."

"Be careful," I replied.

"Yeah, sure, ok."

My wife walked out the door without saying anything more and I was left with the silence I've sadly grown accustomed to listening to inside our home. The placement of reserved words was intentional. It's been this way for 6 months now. The lack of feelings and the absence of saying 'love' in any of our goodbyes was now the accepted standard to one another replaced with neutral words and phrases like, "Seeya" or "Text me when you get there."

I suspect she's cheating on me.

No!

I KNOW

she's cheating on me!

Peering through the front window, I watch her car leave and turn the corner. I've called into work. I've got 9 hours to confirm my suspicion.

I go to our bedroom and search through her nightstand. Underneath a romance novel, I find our wedding picture. I hadn't even realized that she'd taken it down away from view. In it, I'm smiling broadly at the camera while she's staring directly at me with doe-eyed, trusting admiration. I close the drawer finding nothing of interest.

I rummage her closet for any revealing clothing that's been recently purchased - maybe sexy lingerie or new pairs of head turning heels. I'm disappointed to find nothing because my wife is still attractive and that's what I'd want to see her wearing just as I craved seeing such clothing worn by Nicole. Fuckin' Nicole! She looked smokin' hot hiking up to her waist that skirt I'd bought her to jockey ride my dick in lace-strapped red stilettos!

Her diary! I'll read through my wife's entries!

Searching under her side of the mattress, fingers feeling cloth, I discover black thongs that aren't my wife's. Sniffing the crotch, I recognize the sweet, musky scent of Bernadette. She believed me when I said I'd get divorced. This, obviously, was her desperate attempt to expedite.

It's 11:30. If I leave now I can spy on my wife's lunchbreak.

I park and wait.

Hurriedly, I slink in the seat hoping Joan, my wife's coworker, fails in recalling my face from last year's company Christmas party just as she failed in giving me her correct address - sending me instead to the steps of the state's mental asylum.

Funny.

My wife eventually walks out to her car and just sits going nowhere.

A shiny sports car parks 3 spaces down from her and a handsome man bearing a striking resemblance to myself steps out carrying roses.

I ready hand onto door handle with fists clenched and mouth frothing.

He saunters smiling, unaware of the imminent danger I pose, walking past her car to innocently cross the street.

My interests return to my wife. Her head is laid across the steering wheel. Her body appears to be convulsing.

Is? Is she?? Crying???

I send her a text asking if she'd enjoy me leaving my work to meet her for lunch and she replies that she's busy stuck at her desk.

THE LIAR!

After an hour alone she reapplies her mascara and returns to work.

I stop to get the requested eggs before returning home, avoiding the bubbly cashier with the perky tits named Emma. I'm embarrassed I didn't know she recently graduated high school with our daughter and I'm angry that youth fails in giving her the foresight to know the advantages of having an experienced older man as her tutoring lover and potential sugardaddy.

Pulling into our driveway, I spot our next door neighbor checking his mailbox.

"Alimony and more attorney fees," he complains waving envelopes in hand.

I feel for him and the acrimonious divorce he's suffering through knowing that I may soon be in his position dealing with an unfaithful spouse as well.

God, I miss his ex-wife.

Inside, I find the wife's laptop. Searching through its history, I discover she's been watching some YouTube pseudo-psychologist promoting a book titled

Rekindling the Flame

. Frustrated, finding nothing incriminating, I pour myself a stiff drink.

It's now 4:32. She'll be home soon. Think, dammit, think! If I were cheating...

How would I hide it???

I sift through past phone invoices to be shredded searching for anything unusual. One call made from her phone 7 months ago in the early morning hours stands out.

I block my number and dial.

"Hello?" whispers shyly the familiar voice. "Loverman? Mmmmm! Your pussy awaits! We're still on for tonight?"

Fuck! FUCK!!

FUCK!!!

My wife knows I've been cheating!