My Wife Thought Room 317 Was Her Secret… Until I W…

It was maintaining normalcy while watching Emma get dressed in the morning, knowing those clothes might end up in Vincent Larson’s hotel room. It was listening to her talk about work challenges, knowing she was leaving out the most significant parts of her day. It was lying next to her in bed, wondering if she was thinking of him.

One night, as we were getting ready for a dinner with my colleagues, Emma came out of our walk-in closet wearing a blue dress I had never seen before. “New?” I asked, adjusting my tie in the mirror. “This?

No, I’ve had it for ages,” she lied smoothly. “Just haven’t worn it in a while.”

I knew for a fact that Vincent had bought her that dress. Barry had photographed them shopping together at Neiman Marcus two weeks earlier.

I had seen the receipt. “You look beautiful,” I told her, and meant it. That was the cruelest part.

I still found her attractive. I still felt the pull of our history together. Twelve years is a long time to love someone.