The man I had an affair with was the marriage counselor my husband paid a fortune to bring us together-8
Papering Over Cracks
Driving home, silence reigned. Lucas drove, jaw clenched. He didn't look. At my building, he stayed. I stepped onto cold concrete. "Sophie," he called. I paused, door ajar. "Forget today," his voice, muffled, commanded with despair. "Act… like nothing happened." Door closed. Engine roared, taillights vanished. Forget? Impossible. Body aches screamed betrayal. Every breath confessed. I inhaled, flicked open a compact. Streetlight aided quick powder over pallor, tear tracks. Lipstick masked bloodless lips.
Key turned. Door opened. Warm light, food smells. David, aproned, beamed from the kitchen: "Home! Hungry? Your favorite soup!" His smile—solid, warm—seared my heart like a brand. Another man's scent clung to me. "Smells amazing," I cooed, voice unnaturally sweet. My smile strained, muscles aching. I fled to the bathroom. Water roared icy cold on my wrists. Shivers. The mirror reflected hollow eyes, ghostly skin, unnaturally red lips—a painted specter. Sounds of David setting the table drifted. Paper over cracks. My only option. Lies plastering the gaping wound. Every second felt like poisoned glass underfoot.
A Vacant Shell
Days became mechanical. Wake. Work. Home. Smile at David. Eat. Hear work talk. Sleep on separate mattress shores. Lucas vanished. Wednesday appointments ignored. The "bundle up" text deleted. The number blocked. But memory remained. Motel gloom. Cheap scent. Skin friction. His tormented gaze…
A silent horror loop in my mind. Each recall churned my stomach. I grew hypersensitive. David’s hand on my shoulder triggered rigidity; his nearness stole my breath. Intimacy terrified me, threatening exposure. David sensed the frost. "What now?" he frowned. "Slumping again? Didn’t Lucas fix you?" "Nothing," I averted my gaze, fixated on TV. "Tired." "Rest early!" He patted my leg—firmly. I flinched violently. He stared, confused, then resumed scrolling. I hugged my knees, shrunk into the sofa corner. The cavernous void within howled icy drafts.
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Driving home, silence reigned. Lucas drove, jaw clenched. He didn't look. At my building, he stayed. I stepped onto cold concrete. "Sophie," he called. I paused, door ajar. "Forget today," his voice, muffled, commanded with despair. "Act… like nothing happened." Door closed. Engine roared, taillights vanished. Forget? Impossible. Body aches screamed betrayal. Every breath confessed. I inhaled, flicked open a compact. Streetlight aided quick powder over pallor, tear tracks. Lipstick masked bloodless lips.
Key turned. Door opened. Warm light, food smells. David, aproned, beamed from the kitchen: "Home! Hungry? Your favorite soup!" His smile—solid, warm—seared my heart like a brand. Another man's scent clung to me. "Smells amazing," I cooed, voice unnaturally sweet. My smile strained, muscles aching. I fled to the bathroom. Water roared icy cold on my wrists. Shivers. The mirror reflected hollow eyes, ghostly skin, unnaturally red lips—a painted specter. Sounds of David setting the table drifted. Paper over cracks. My only option. Lies plastering the gaping wound. Every second felt like poisoned glass underfoot.
A Vacant Shell
Days became mechanical. Wake. Work. Home. Smile at David. Eat. Hear work talk. Sleep on separate mattress shores. Lucas vanished. Wednesday appointments ignored. The "bundle up" text deleted. The number blocked. But memory remained. Motel gloom. Cheap scent. Skin friction. His tormented gaze…
A silent horror loop in my mind. Each recall churned my stomach. I grew hypersensitive. David’s hand on my shoulder triggered rigidity; his nearness stole my breath. Intimacy terrified me, threatening exposure. David sensed the frost. "What now?" he frowned. "Slumping again? Didn’t Lucas fix you?" "Nothing," I averted my gaze, fixated on TV. "Tired." "Rest early!" He patted my leg—firmly. I flinched violently. He stared, confused, then resumed scrolling. I hugged my knees, shrunk into the sofa corner. The cavernous void within howled icy drafts.
NEXT >>
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