When two people find out their partners are cheating on them, they don't do the same thing to get back at them, do they? Surely not...
The following is a short story. If you prefer longer works, I have two other Loving Wives stories you'll find on my Submissions page.
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The first time I saw him, he was sitting in the hallway of my apartment building with his face in his hands, his legs drawn up, as if trying to compact himself. I passed him with my suitcase, the carry-on that was supposed to last me three days but only lasted me a couple of hours. I'd missed my flight, and there was no use waiting for another since there wouldn't be another until tomorrow. I'd missed the most important speakers at the conference. Might as well come home, and so that's what I'd done.
I was sticking my key into the lock when the stranger looked up, his eyes bloodshot red. It made me very uneasy.
"Don't," was all he said.
"Don't?"
"Don't go in there."
I scrutinized him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was some homeless tweaker, but he couldn't be. He was dressed nicely, and his hair was brushed neatly, a little on the longer side, but it seemed intentional.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Just... Just don't."
"Do you need me to call someone?" I asked, trying not to sound alarmed. This guy was starting to creep me out.
"No."
"Oo-kay then." I turned the lock, turned the doorknob, and turned my life upside down when I walked into my apartment.
"Fuck!"
I stopped in my tracks, my heart beating erratically.
"Oh
god,"
a voice responded.
A woman's voice.
"So good, baby," Damien purred. I knew that voice. He was fucking someone, except that someone was not
me
--his fiancée. I felt my stomach drop, as if someone had taken me to a cliff and dropped me from the top, telling me to go fuck myself on the way down.
I walked out of the apartment, wheeling my suitcase with me back outside. I closed the front door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
"I told you not to go in there," the stranger said, his expression tight. He'd been crying.
"Is that your girlfriend in there?" I asked, swallowing hard. Maybe I was going to cry, too.
"Wife, actually."
"That... that's shitty," I said, and slid down to the floor, my back against the front door. I didn't think I could stand for this one.
"Your husband?" he asked.
"Fiancé," I said, sighing. I'd have to cancel the wedding.
"Lucky."
I'd have to cancel the fucking wedding.
"Right, that's how I'm feeling right now," I snapped.
"Lucky."
"Did you pay for the wedding already?" he asked. I glanced at him, at the stupid,
infuriating
way that he looked kind of like Damien, his hair black as night, eyes sparkling blue, and I wanted to hurl.
"Yup."
"That sucks," he said, and then looked down at his hands, as if he expected them to grow a mouth and tell him what to do. "I'm, uh, Hudson. Like the river."
"Cat, like the animal."
"Short for Catherine?"
"Wow, you're such a good guesser," I said sarcastically.
"You're mean," he said, and I saw him crack a small smile. I didn't want to smile, but one ended up forming on my lips anyway. I smiled. Like a pathetic fucking idiot, I smiled at this stranger whose wife was fucking my fiancé.
"I'm really not," I said, laughing because it was such a lie. I
was
mean. I was an absolute bitch sometimes.
"It's okay," he said. "I like mean girls."
"No one likes mean girls."
"I do."
Our eyes met. He didn't look as distraught as he had when I'd first passed him in the hall. But it was still likely the worst day of his life.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
He looked above me, at the door. "A few days."
"So you've had some time to process this."
Hudson shrugged, looking back down at his hands. "I don't think I've processed it, actually. I still don't know if I believe it."
"Well, I heard them," I said. "I'd start believing it, if I were you."
His brows knit together. "I'm trying."
I sighed. "I'm gonna have to call so many vendors."
Hudson nodded. "Think you'll get your money back?"
"Maybe some," I mused. "But most of them have a huge fee for canceling in their contracts."
"When's the date?"
"Four months from now. May twentieth."
"Well, the florist should be easy to cancel. Those flowers haven't even grown yet."
"That's a good point," I said, leaning my head back against the door. "Maybe she'll feel sorry for me."
"Yeah. Maybe."
I turned to look at Hudson. "Are you gonna get a divorce?"
He kept staring down at his hands, his gaze so intense that I imagined him as Superman for a minute with laser beams shooting through his eyes. He had the dark hair and the blue eyes and broad shoulders, so he certainly looked the part.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry."
Those intense eyes flashed to mine. "Don't say that."
I frowned. "Why? I'm not allowed to feel a little sorry that my piece of shit fiancé--"
"No," Hudson said. "This isn't your fault."
"I didn't say it was."
"Then don't apologize."
"Sheesh," I muttered. "I'm just trying to be sympathetic here."
He tilted his head to the side, giving me a look I couldn't quite read.
"I'm sorry my wife is fucking your fiancé."
My heart felt like it had just been squeezed too hard.
"Okay, point taken," I said. "I take it back. I'm not sorry. Fuck them both."
"That's more like it."
I hugged my knees. "What are you doing just sitting out here, Hudson? Do you want to catch her coming out of the apartment?"
He shook his head. "I just wanted to confirm my suspicions. I never... I didn't have a plan."