I walked through the front door at 11:47 p.m., far later than I had promised. My button-down shirt was wrinkled from a long day, and the faint scent of another woman clung to it like a truth I was too tired—and too cowardly—to admit.
If Emily asked, I already had my story ready.
Exhaustion.
Dead phone battery.
Too many meetings.
Traffic.All the usual lies dressed up to sound ordinary.
The house was quiet except for the low hum of the dryer and the soft scrape of hangers. Emily sat on the bed folding laundry with slow, careful movements, matching socks and smoothing shirts like she was trying to bring order back to a life I had already started to unravel.
She glanced up when I stepped in.
“Long day?” she asked gently.Brutal,” I said, loosening my tie. “I’m wiped.”
She nodded as if she believed me.
That somehow made it worse.
For three months I had been seeing Vanessa Cole, a marketing consultant from another firm. It started innocently enough—work lunches, then drinks, then hotel rooms charged to a company card I prayed no one would ever audit.
Every night I told myself I’d end it.
