Page 3 of Shame

My heart stops.

The pain on her face surprises me. I don’t know why. I’ve been cheating on her and she’s just found out.

I put that pain there.

But that realization is like an out-of-body thought, totally disjointed from the desperate, clawing question hurtling around inside my head.

What have I done? What I have done to my wife?

My wife.

Grace.

“I can explain,” I say dumbly, because I don’t need to. She knows.

“Who. Is.—”

I reach my hand out. “Give me my phone.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I’ve already sent myself everything, anyway.”

There isn’t much there. I’m diligent about deleting the content regularly. But I still… My brain screams at me to get this under control.

“What’s her name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” My skin crawls at the thought of Grace knowing anything about…

I can’t even think her name again.

That woman.

My mistake.

“Are you for real?” Grace chucks my phone at me and I barely catch it. “Are you for fucking real? Trying to protect this woman? I will find her, you pig. I have her phone number.”

She hops off the vanity and spins away, a whirlwind of righteous anger.

And I’m standing there, holding my phone, naked. Still dripping wet from the shower.

I chase her anyway. “Wait.”

She laughs and grabs something off her dresser, whipping it in my general direction. “Fuck off.”

“I’m not trying to protect her. She’s meaningless. A mistake.”

“Those texts don’t look like mistakes. They look deliberate. They look like a choice you made.”

“I…” I wipe my hand over my face. “I need to get dressed.”

She gestures at my dresser. “Help yourself. Empty all the drawers while you’re at it, because I want you out of here tonight.”

“We need to talk.”

“Who is she?”

My heart is pounding in my chest as I pull on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

She snorts. “Fine. I’ll call her Spitfire, then.Dear Spitfire, my husband won’t be making drinks with you tonight. Or ever again.”

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