Cheating

I’d been noticing the way my husband’s friend looked at me for weeks. That night, alone in the patio, I understood none of it was accidental.

She packed modest clothes and a body tired of waiting. What she found at her friend’s home changed her forever, though she never dared tell it.

She parked in front of the building, looked in the rearview mirror, and did not recognize the woman staring back. That night she had decided to stop being the perfect wife.

We’d spent a week planning that night: her husband at soccer, my wife in class. What we didn’t plan was how many times we’d be interrupted.

When she asked me to help with the washing machine, I never imagined I’d end up staring at her without hiding it. A woman like that shouldn’t be left alone so often.

I’d spent years imagining him from the other side of the wall. That night, alone in my aunt’s house, he was the one who rang the bell.

My husband was away again, and my back couldn’t take any more. My neighbor’s message said, “The first massage is free.” I never imagined how far it would go.

The tree that grew between our yards was only the excuse. What I really wanted was on the other side of that wall, and I learned to jump it every time he left.

I ran into her in the communal showers and, without thinking too much, decided to provoke the situation. What followed turned a boring trip into something I still can’t get out of my head.

I crept barefoot down the hallway while he slept, determined to give my husband the cuckolding he wanted so badly—but on my terms: he’d never know he already had it.

I came home still burning from the night before, never imagining a kitchen conversation would unravel me more than any caress.

We’d been teasing each other with our eyes in the courthouse for months. That fair afternoon, between two cars and far from everyone, we stopped pretending nothing was happening.

I invited him for a coffee knowing it wasn’t coffee I wanted. At fifty, Raquel discovered guilt had never been stronger than her desire.

I opened the door with my headphones on, suspecting nothing. When I looked into the living room, he wasn’t alone, and I had the cold blood to keep watching.

I caught him watching me in the hotel gym and knew that older married man wouldn’t stop until he had me. What I didn’t expect was how much I wanted him to succeed.

She was alone on the grass, in the shade, with legs that made me forget the book. I had no idea how far we’d go before we said goodbye.

While you slept off the booze in the room, I slipped barefoot down the hotel corridor to discover in his arms what you could no longer give me.

I hated him for the way he stalked me, but that morning under the fridge light I discovered his gaze made me tremble for reasons I refused to admit.

I hadn’t set foot in a club in years, but that night my son’s friend looked at me in a way no man had in a long time.

I only meant to connect the cameras to my phone. Instead I found, recorded and dated, what my mother did every time my father left for work.