Page 5 of Circle of Strangers
I sent a screenshot of the image to John, demanding an explanation.
He was my first “catch” and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. I was like a cat toying with a mouse whose demise was inevitable.
I was met with staunch denial at first as he tried to gaslight me into believing it wasn’t him.
When that didn’t work, he claimed he and his wife had an open relationship.
After I asked if his wife would be willing to corroborate that, he began to panic—which included vague threats of blackmail—until I informed him that all of the images I’d sent him during our two days of chatting were AI-generated. He didn’t need to know that I painstakingly edited those images, adding texture and tweaking the exposure so theywouldn’t seem so perfect. Those images could’ve fooled anyone. Not to mention, he didn’t have anything to blackmail me with. I never used my name nor was I moronic enough to move off the app and give him my phone number.
Chess, not checkers.
Lucinda taught me that.
She also taught me that certain men who are desperate for sex will say and do just about anything if they think they’ll get it. John, unfortunately, was so desperate he was willing to risk losing his beautiful family for a chance to temporarily feel like a desired man again and not a bloated body in a stale, nonfunctioning marriage.
I get it. We all want to feel alive. But there are better ways to achieve that feeling; ways that don’t involve shitting all over the mother of your children.
It took me all of two hours to decide to print off the screenshots of our conversation and anonymously snail mail them to John’s wife.
I’ve never considered myself to be a girl’s girl before, never having the need for such a thing. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t immensely satisfying to do a lovely-seeming woman a solid. She’s raising two beautiful daughters, enriching young minds, and sleeping beside a man who spent multiple hours over chat, begging me to call him “daddy” and sending me links to lingerie and adult toys he fully believed he would get to use on me.
I’dwant to know if I were sleeping next to that.
With John’s situation under wraps, I move on to the next guy—a never-married silver fox by the name of Sam. Every other photo of him contains a teacup Yorkie. There’s nothing skeevy about him and his chats so far are fairly mild and basic, if not yawn inducing. He doesn’t seem horny or desperate (yet). Thirty minutes in, he sends me his IG handle that contains his last name. A cursory internet search reveals Sam is not, in fact, married.
I un-match him and move on. I’m not here to waste anyone’s time nor my own.
Next is Josh.
Also unmarried.
Then Jarod.
Also unmarried.
I un-match them both.
“Hello, hello,” Will’s voice echoes from the garage entrance. I close out of the True Spark app as quickly as I can, darken my phone, and place it aside, trading it for the colorful Colleen Hoover paperback beside me.
“You’re home early.” I dog-ear a random page and rise to greet him with a kiss.
“There’s a blood drive going on and half of my students were volunteering, so I cut everyone loose a little early.” He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me against him. His lips are soft on mine, and he leaves them there a little longer than normal. If I could feel guilt, I might second-guess my new hobby.
If Will ever caught wind of what I was doing, I’m not sure how I could explain it in a way that would appease him. This saint of a man was quick to forgive me after everything that transpired in San Diego, for hiding my past, for living under an alias, for lying about the true nature of my relationship with my mother ... but he may not be so quick to forgive me this time.
My reasons for doing what I did before were noble. I was protecting our family, protecting us.
My True Spark hobby is ... a different kind of noble, the kind of noble only another married woman could truly appreciate.
“I grabbed the mail. It’s on the kitchen island. How do you feel about going out for dinner tonight?” His tone is laced with golden retriever energy. “Been craving sushi lately.”
I hate sushi but Will and the kids love it, so I always suffer through it.
Like the good wife I am, I feign excitement with a grin that stretches ear to ear. “Sounds perfect.”
He kisses my cheek, gives me a playful pat on the rear, and loosens his tie before shrugging out of his houndstooth jacket.
Will’s really been getting into the whole professor thing, even though he’s technically an adjunct. It’ll be years before he’ll earn tenure, if he decides to do a tenure track at all. For now, he seems content with his new career in academics. Daytime hours. A dedicated office. Dealing with more students than patients.
