Cheating

I climbed the tree behind the dormitory to confirm what I already knew. I never imagined seeing her with him on the balcony would awaken something between rage and desire I’d never felt.

I locked the door and turned off the lights in the study room. All I wanted that afternoon was to comfort her; all she wanted was to forget her boyfriend.

She came in wearing her white uniform and her usual smile. What neither of them saw coming was that the other woman was on the sofa, three meters from the game.

An hour before dinner, the kids were watching cartoons in the living room and I crossed the garden looking for my wife. The laundry room door was ajar.

I’d known him since high school as the toughest macho in class. Last night he saw me transformed into someone else, and the next day his message left no room for doubt.

When I got into the car that morning and saw her alone at the wheel, I knew the weekend wouldn’t be innocent in the slightest.

I went downstairs barefoot for a glass of water, convinced I was alone. I saw the light on in the office and knew that morning wasn’t going to end the way it had begun.

When she whispered that she was dripping and apologized, I realized our fantasy had gotten out of hand. And the stranger still hadn’t done his worst.

When I looked at myself in the hotel mirror, mascara running and marks on my neck, I knew no lie would be enough when I got home.

For months I’d let her dance alone, waiting for someone to push far enough. That night, a man taller than me finally did it.

The lover’s initials weren’t written out in full, but they matched the man smoking on my balcony.

Her skirt was torn, her lips swollen, and she smelled of a man who wasn’t me. The worst part wasn’t seeing her like that—it was what she ordered me to do next.

I went to the club looking for a quiet night. I ended up walking through a bedroom door with another man’s wife and the promise that he’d wait outside.

I went in with the key he’d left in the planter. What I didn’t expect was to find her waiting for me, arms crossed and jaw clenched.

She had red hair, painted lips, and a body that stopped traffic. What I didn’t imagine was what I’d find when I slipped my hand under her dress.

When she sat on my couch with smeared mascara and a trembling voice, I knew a whiskey and a few comforting words wouldn’t be enough.

When I bent down to put the box away in the storeroom, Adela turned slowly and let me see the white lace under her blouse. That night I knew the route had changed forever.

When I went into the kitchen she already had the lasagna in the oven and two glasses poured. I pressed her against the marble before she could set the dish down.

Marina left the phone book open to the letter C. I was only going to talk about my bedroom problem, but that first appointment didn’t end as anyone would have imagined.