After I cheated, I found my soulmate. She never checked my phone, never asked about my finances, and never demanded to know where I was. She was the splash of color my grey, suffocating life desperately needed. On my wife’s side, I kept up appearances. I came home on time, played the doting husband, and kept the machinery of our marriage running smoothly. Until the day I pushed open the door to my secret sanctuary. And found my wife waiting inside. 1 The sharp spark of my lighter caught a dark, rusty smear on the bedsheets. I looked down at the girl sleeping soundly beside me. Slowly, I leaned back against the headboard and inhaled a deep drag of nicotine. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dark room. It was a text from my wife, Fiona: Hey babe, I slipped some hangover pills into your briefcase. Don’t forget to take them. I stood up, walked out onto the balcony, and dialed her number. “Is Toby asleep?” I asked when she picked up. “He just went down,” Fiona replied, her voice soft but tired. “What time does your flight land tomorrow? I can come pick you up from the airport.” I rubbed my tired eyes. “I’ll text you the flight details in a bit. Go get some rest.” After hanging up, I stood on the balcony for a long time, letting the freezing night wind numb my face. When I returned to the bedroom, Gemma was sitting up, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. “Are you leaving?” she whispered. I nodded and began pulling on my clothes. My movements were still clumsy and slow from the alcohol. She slipped out of bed, padded over on bare feet, and gently straightened my collar. “I don’t want to get in the way of your family,” she said, looking up at me with wide, earnest eyes. “I won’t ever make things hard for you. Just a little of your time, every now and then, is more than enough to keep me happy.” I ran a hand over her soft hair, said nothing, and left. Later, lying in my own king-sized bed at home, I closed my eyes, but my mind was a chaotic blur of the intoxicating hours I had just spent with her. It had been years since I felt that kind of electric, heart-stopping thrill. I couldn’t even remember how I had crossed that final line. I only remembered the way her eyelashes glistened with tears when she was beneath me. The next morning, after my run, I found Gemma standing right outside my office door. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her face completely bare of makeup, with tiny beads of sweat glistening on the tip of her nose. “Hey, Marcus,” she murmured. “I noticed you didn’t come down for the hotel breakfast, so I brought you some fresh pastries and hot coffee.” I stared at her for two seconds. Then I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into my room. Honestly, for a man in my position, having a mistress is practically par for the course. As long as you know how to balance the scales, it never causes any real trouble. If anything, the thrill of this stolen happiness made me more patient with my family. I viewed it as a healthy tax on my guilt, a trade-off that actually made me a better husband. When our flight landed back home, Gemma slipped into the airport restroom, deliberately staying out of sight to avoid any awkward encounters. Fiona practically flew toward me at the arrivals gate, wrapping her arms tight around my waist and burying her face in the crook of my neck. I glanced over her shoulder. Through the crowded terminal, I saw Gemma standing in the shadows. Her eyes were red, but she gave me a brave, bittersweet wave. My heart twisted with a sudden, unexpected ache. At dinner that night, Fiona talked endlessly about her day, the company, and our son. My phone screen lit up repeatedly on the table, but there were no messages from Gemma. “Marcus?” I blinked and looked up. Fiona was staring at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ve called your name three times. What are you staring at?” “Just thinking about a project at the firm,” I lied, shoving a forkful of food into my mouth. “What were you saying?” “Toby has that soccer tournament in Europe coming up,” she said, her excitement returning. “It’s about ten days. Why don’t you take some PTO? We haven’t taken a family trip in forever.” “I can’t. The new project is in a critical phase right now. You guys go ahead without me.” Fiona’s smile faded into a disappointed nod. “Okay. Next time, then.” That night, when she crawled into bed and tried to spoon me, I instinctively shifted toward the edge of the mattress. “I’m exhausted, babe. Let’s just sleep.” Fiona’s arm froze against my waist. Slowly, awkwardly, she pulled it back. After all these years of marriage, intimacy with Fiona had become a chore, a repetitive script we both read from. It was entirely devoid of passion. But Gemma was different. She made everything feel dangerously alive again. I closed my eyes, and my mind was immediately flooded with Gemma’s vibrant, laughing face. The moment my wife and son left for Europe, I packed a bag and moved straight into Gemma’s apartment. We worked together by day and dissolved into each other by night. As the warm summer breeze swept through the open windows and the city lights flickered in the distance, I felt a sensation I hadn’t felt in a decade. I felt alive. Gemma couldn’t cook, and she hated cleaning, but I didn’t care. I hired a maid to come three times a week, pre-paid a tab at the bistro downstairs, and set up a delivery service with the local dry cleaners. The tedious, grinding realities of daily life were easily solved with a little bit of money. At drinks, my buddies would always lecture me. “You need a woman who knows how to run a household,” they’d say. I always laughed it off. Fiona was there to run the household. Gemma’s job was simply to be my escape. One night, a close friend clinked his glass against mine and warned me quietly, “Careful, man. You’re playing with fire.” I just smiled and shook my head. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a perfect muse. Only much later did I realize the most tragic truth of life: the worst thing isn’t making the wrong choice. It is when everyone around you watches you make that choice, and no one can do a single thing to stop you. 2 The night before Fiona and Toby were scheduled to return, Gemma and I lost track of time playing video games. We ended up staying up until dawn, which meant we completely slept through their arrival. Because of my negligence, my wife and son were left stranded at the airport for over two hours. When I finally bolted awake, my phone was buzzing with thirty-two missed calls. I sat up so fast my head spun. Gemma rubbed her sleepy eyes, yawning. “What’s wrong?” “I missed their flight,” I panicked, throwing the blankets off. She sat up, her brow furrowing in irritation. “Ubers are everywhere. Why do you have to play chauffeur anyway? You work so hard. Why can’t she just let you sleep?” I didn’t stay to listen to the rest. I ran out to the balcony and dialed Fiona’s number. “I am so sorry, Fiona. The client dinner went incredibly late last night, and I slept right through my alarm.” The line was dead silent for several seconds. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice eerily calm. “We’re taking the train home. Toby bought a souvenir for you. He’s been carrying it in his backpack the whole way.” “Okay. I’ll see you at home.” When I hung up, Gemma was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, watching me. “So… you won’t be coming back here for a while, will you?” Her eyes welled with tears, though she forced a brave, fragile smile. I grabbed my coat and gently patted her head. “I have to go.” After a quick lunch with her to soften the blow, I sped back to our suburban home. On the way, I bought a massive bouquet of flowers for Fiona and a massive Lego set for Toby. Yet, an icy knot of anxiety was tightening in my chest. Something felt terribly wrong. The moment I inserted my key into the front door, I heard muffled sobbing from inside. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw the door open. “What happened?” Toby was sitting on the hardwood floor, his face completely drenched in tears. He looked up at me with red, swollen eyes. “Dad,” he choked out. “Have you really not been home once since we left?” The air was violently sucked from my lungs. I had completely forgotten about our golden retriever, Buster. Fiona was kneeling next to our son, her shoulders shaking violently. On the kitchen island lay an unopened bag of dog food. Before she left, Fiona had taken the dog food out of the pantry and explicitly told me to feed him. I had given her a distracted nod, walked out the door, and never thought about the dog again. I slowly dropped to my knees. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll buy you another puppy. The exact same breed, okay?” Fiona snapped. She looked at me with a gaze so cold it cut to the bone. “Marcus, that dog was with him for six years. Do you honestly think you can just replace him with a trip to a pet store?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I just… I forgot.” Fiona didn’t argue. She walked over to the mudroom, grabbed a spade, and walked back to our son. “Come on, Toby,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Let’s go bury Buster.” Watching their retreating figures, I felt a suffocating pressure chest. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked away the hours. I sat in the silent house, staring at the wall, until I finally mustered the courage to call Fiona. “Hey, when are you guys coming back?” “Soon,” she replied. “Actually, I have a question for you.” “What is it?” “Where have you been sleeping this past week?” My grip on the phone tightened. “The guys and I were watching the playoffs. I stayed over at Dave’s place.” “Which Dave?” “Dave and the guys from the office.” Silence stretched over the line. “Are you sure about that?” “Yes, I’m sure.” My breathing was shallow and fast. In this world, as long as you deny everything and never back down, they can never prove a thing. “Okay,” she said, and hung up. I sat on the sofa, letting the phone screen go dark, then unlocking it, over and over again. Another forty minutes crawled by. My phone vibrated. I snatched it up, expecting Fiona, but the screen read Gemma. I frowned and swiped to decline. A text immediately popped up: Your wife is here. I scrambled off the sofa, my heart leaping into my throat. What did you just say? 3 She’s standing right outside my apartment door, Gemma’s text read. I don’t know how she found this place… Marcus, you need to get over here right now. What did you tell her? I typed back, my fingers shaking. Nothing! I haven’t opened the door. She’s just standing there, telling me to call you. My brain was screaming. Don’t admit to anything! Keep your mouth shut. I’m on my way! I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door. In the elevator, the polished metal walls reflected a face that was pale and slick with cold sweat. But when I reached the parking garage, I froze. My parking spot was empty. Fiona had taken the spare key when she left. The onboard GPS in our SUV had Gemma’s address saved in the recent destinations. Fiona didn’t even have to search for it; she just had to press start. I leaned against the concrete pillar, slowly sliding down to the dirty floor. She had boxed me in. She had cut off every single escape route. For the first time in my life, I felt absolute, paralyzing terror. My phone lit up again. How far away are you? I wiped the sweat from my forehead, shoved the phone into my pocket, and ran out to the street to hail a cab. When I arrived at Gemma’s building, I saw our family car parked right in front of the entrance. In the back seat, Toby was curled up, fast asleep, covered by Fiona’s trench coat. I didn’t wake him. I turned and ran up the stairs. The apartment door opened, and Gemma stood there, her face frantic. “What took you so long?” I pushed past her and scanned the living room. Everything looked shockingly normal. There was no signs of a struggle, no broken glass, no screaming. Fiona was sitting quietly on the velvet sofa. She looked up and gestured to the empty chair opposite her. “Have a seat, Marcus.” I tried to keep my voice steady, desperate to de-escalate the situation. “Fiona, Toby is asleep in the car.” “I know,” she said quietly. “These aren’t things a child needs to hear. Marcus, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” I closed my eyes, a wave of irritation washing over my panic. I hated being put on the defensive like this. Cheating wasn’t a capital crime. I wasn’t like those deadbeat dads who abandoned their families. I still cared about my home. I still cared about her. “Fiona, stop this,” I muttered. “Don’t make a scene.” She didn’t look at me. Instead, she turned her cold gaze toward Gemma. “I’m not going to waste my time talking to you about morals or integrity today. I doubt your parents ever bothered to teach you those concepts anyway.” “That’s enough!” I barked, stepping between them. “Look at yourself. Don’t you think you’re acting incredibly pathetic right now?” “Pathetic?” Fiona finally met my eyes. “You think my reaction is pathetic? You’re the one sleeping around, Marcus. If anyone is pathetic here, it’s you.” Before I could reply, Gemma reached out and gently tugged on my sleeve. “Marcus, please don’t fight with her because of me… It’s all my fault. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” Seeing Gemma’s tear-filled eyes, a protective anger flared in my chest. “Fiona, what the hell do you actually want?” “Good question.” Fiona reached into her designer bag, pulled out a thick manila folder, and slid it across the coffee table. “A powerful corporate executive like you shouldn’t have to sneak around. I’m going to make things easy for you both. I’m giving your little mistress a promotion to full-time wife.” I looked down at the documents. They were divorce papers. My chest tightened painfully. “Fiona, it’s late. Let’s go home and discuss this like adults.” She ignored me. She pulled a pen from her purse and handed it directly to Gemma. “As women, I think we understand each other. You can have the man. But you can’t have the money. Marcus committed a major marital fault. I am taking seventy percent of our joint assets.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “You can either sign these papers right now, and we settle this quietly. Or, I will hire a forensic accountant to audit every single dollar he has spent on you. And when the court rules in my favor, I will print the judgment and pin it to the bulletin board at his corporate headquarters. You choose.” The room fell dead silent. I closed my eyes, a sharp, throbbing pain blooming behind my temples. “So, this is who you really are,” I sneered. 4 Fiona looked at me, her expression entirely empty of emotion. “Yes. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I let out a harsh laugh. “You want to know the difference between you and Gemma? Gemma would never use money or a divorce to blackmail me. Your greed is showing, Fiona. It’s ugly.” She didn’t flinch. She simply tilted her head back and let out a soft, dry laugh. “Thank you for the compliment.” The moment Fiona walked out the door, Gemma threw her arms around my neck, holding the signed divorce agreement. Her voice was breathless with excitement. “It’s perfect! You’re finally free. Now you belong entirely to me.” I kissed her forehead, but my eyes wandered to the window. Under the harsh glow of the streetlamp below, Fiona opened the car door, leaning in to adjust the coat over our sleeping son. I watched her car pull away, its taillights bleeding into the darkness, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away until the street was empty. “Marcus?” Gemma gently kissed my jaw. “You’re free now. No one can ever dictate your life again.” She was right. I was free. In thirty days, the divorce would be finalized, and we would be strangers. But for some reason, there was a hollow, echoing ache in my chest. Perhaps I had been suffocated by routine for so long that this sudden, absolute freedom felt terrifying. That night, Gemma tried every trick, every touch, and every position she knew, but my body refused to respond. I gently pushed her away, tracing her cheekbone. “Let’s just sleep, babe. I’m really tired.” Every Wednesday was boys’ night. When I pushed open the door to our usual private dining room, the entire table went silent. “Everyone, this is Gemma,” I announced, pulling out a chair for her. “My girlfriend.” The silence stretched for a painful five seconds. Dave laid his fork down slowly. “Are you serious, Marcus?” “Yeah. The divorce papers are already signed.” Ben let out a forced, awkward chuckle. “Well… congrats on the fresh start, man.” They clinked their glasses together, offering weak, superficial congratulations. But one person didn’t move. My college roommate, Nathan. He leaned back in his chair, his cold, calculating eyes slowly sweeping over Gemma. I nudged his shoulder. “What, nothing to say?” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I don’t have anything nice to say, so I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Gemma raised her glass, looking at Nathan with a fragile, timid expression. “Nice to meet you, Nathan. I hope we can be friends.” Nathan let out a sharp, mocking snort. “I’m driving, so no alcohol for me. Got any green tea? I hear it’s your favorite flavor.” Gemma’s hand froze mid-air, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Ben frowned, trying to keep the peace. “Come on, Nathan. What’s your problem? Why are you taking it out on her?” “No problem at all,” Nathan said, sliding his chair back. He grabbed his leather jacket from the rack. “Next time we plan a dinner, let me know in advance. If we’re going to start inviting strangers, don’t bother calling me.” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room suffocatingly quiet. Ben tried to laugh it off. “Don’t mind him. He’s been single for too long. His social skills are practically nonexistent.” Under the table, I squeezed Gemma’s trembling hand. It was fine. It would just take some time for my friends to accept her. Over the next few weeks, my mind was a chaotic mess. My performance at work began to slip, so I decided to take a sudden vacation. I booked a trip to a beach resort for Gemma and me. Staring out at the endless blue horizon, the weight on my shoulders seemed to lift. We slipped back into our hedonistic rhythm. We made love in every corner of the hotel suite, from dawn until dusk, bathed in sunlight and the scent of sea salt. This was the life I had wanted. One evening, while we were walking through a local street market, I spotted a small golden retriever puppy in a pet stall. It looked exactly like Buster. Gemma knelt down to scratch the puppy behind its ears, looking up at me with a sweet smile. “Marcus, look how cute he is. Why don’t we buy him? It can be a peace offering for Toby.” I smiled and stroked her hair. “That’s a great idea.” I immediately dialed my son’s smart-watch. When Toby answered, I explained the surprise, but the line went quiet. “Thanks, Dad,” Toby said softly. “But I already have a new dog.” “Oh? Did your mom buy you one?” “No. Uncle Nathan bought him for me.” “Which Uncle Nathan?” I demanded, my grip on the phone tightening. Before Toby could answer, a deep male voice echoed in the background. “Toby, wash your hands. Dinner is ready.” 5 The voice was muffled, but I recognized it instantly. It was Nathan. “I gotta go, Dad. Dinner is ready,” Toby said, and the line went dead. My chest felt incredibly tight, as if a heavy stone was crushing my ribs. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Gemma noticed my pale face. “Marcus, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I… I can’t catch my breath,” I wheezed, clutching my chest. “Help me sit down.” She guided me to a nearby bench, wrapping her arm around me. “You don’t have a fever. Maybe you got too much sun? Let’s go back to the hotel.” I closed my eyes, but those words kept playing on a loop in my head. Uncle Nathan bought him for me. Toby, wash your hands. Dinner is ready. Nathan was my brother. We had known each other for twelve years. But friends don’t belong in another man’s kitchen. They don’t call another man’s son to dinner with that level of casual intimacy. That was my place. Not his. I snapped my eyes open, pulled out my phone, and opened my chat with Nathan. Where the hell are you? I stared at the screen, watching the little typing bubble appear and disappear. My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited. Finally, a text popped up: Fiona’s place. My fingers trembled violently as I typed: That is MY house! Ten seconds passed. Calm down, Marcus. Don’t let your little side piece catch you sweating. “Fuck!” I kicked the metal trash can next to the bench. The metal dented with a loud, hollow clang, sending a sharp, shooting pain up my foot. But the physical pain didn’t do anything to numb the white-hot rage consuming me. I dialed Fiona’s number. The number you have dialed is currently unavailable… She had blocked me. I opened our chat on social media. A small, mocking red exclamation mark sat next to my sent message. The tropical sky suddenly looked gray. The ocean looked dirty. Back in the hotel room, even when I held Gemma in my arms, my mind kept drifting back to the day we signed the papers, to the sight of Fiona bending down to put her coat over our son. Fiona and I didn’t love each other anymore. We hadn’t for years. So why was my chest aching like this? My phone buzzed again. It was a message from my mother. Marcus? Is Fiona’s phone broken? I sent her a text and it says it couldn’t be delivered. Tomorrow is Toby’s birthday, right? I wanted to know what time you guys would be arriving. I sat up so fast my back popped. His birthday? Tomorrow? Yes, of course, she replied. Your father and I have decorated the house. We want to give him a big surprise. I stared at the calendar on my phone screen. Tomorrow was indeed Toby’s birthday. I had completely, utterly forgotten it. “Marcus?” Gemma’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind. “Why are you so distracted today?” “It’s nothing,” I muttered. I typed a quick message to my mother: Mom, I’m so sorry, but something urgent came up at the firm. I don’t think I can make it back in time. I’ll make it up to him when I get back, okay? My mother’s reply was casual: Oh, don’t worry about it. Work comes first. I’ll figure something out. I assumed that was the end of it, but the next morning, my phone rang. It was my mother again. “Marcus, you need to make sure you thank Nathan. He was an absolute lifesaver today.” I froze. “What?” “Oh, you have no idea! I called Toby yesterday, and he told me Uncle Nathan was planning a birthday dinner for him. I figured, why not do it together? So I asked Nathan to bring him over. He even brought us a gorgeous prime rib. He is such a polite young man…” A sharp, high-pitched ringing echoed in my ears.
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