THE TEXT
1008 Words
Vanessa Cross sat in her car, engine off, phone in her hand.
The garage was dark. She'd been sitting here for twenty minutes, since pulling in from her "lunch meeting" — which wasn't a lunch meeting at all. It was a two-hour hotel room with Derek, the third one this week. She was getting careless. She knew it. She didn't care.
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
I need to see you again. Tonight.
She typed it. Deleted it. Typed it again.
Tonight. Same place. 8 PM.
Her heart was pounding. Not from guilt — from anticipation. Derek made her feel things Adrian hadn't made her feel in years. Wanted. Seen. Alive.
She hit send.
The reply came in seconds.
Can't. Adrian asked me to look at some plans for the house. He'll be home.
Vanessa's jaw tightened. Of course. Adrian, with his house projects and his long hours and his quiet, persistent presence. Always there when she didn't want him. Never there when she did.
Tomorrow? she typed.
Maybe. I'll let you know.
She stared at the screen. Maybe. Such a small word for such a large disappointment.
She got out of the car and walked into the house.
---
The house was empty.
Adrian was still at work. He was always at work. Vanessa walked through the living room, past the family photos she'd arranged so carefully — her and Adrian at the wedding, her and Adrian in Greece, her and Adrian at some charity gala she didn't remember. She looked at them now and saw nothing. Just two strangers who happened to share a last name.
She went to the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and sat at the island.
Her phone buzzed.
Derek: I can do tomorrow. 3 PM. The usual.
She smiled. Typed back: I'll be there.
Then she finished her wine and went upstairs to change.
---
The first time she touched Derek on purpose, it was at a family dinner.
Adrian was in the kitchen with their mother. Derek was helping Vanessa clear the table. Their hands met over a stack of plates.
She didn't pull away.
"Vanessa," he said, low.
"I know."
"We shouldn't —"
"I know."
She held his gaze. Then she took the plates and walked away.
But she left her phone on the table. And later that night, Derek texted her: "I can't stop thinking about you."
She replied: "Good."
---
Vanessa lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
She should feel guilty. She didn't. She should feel something — regret, fear, shame. But all she felt was a low, steady thrum of anticipation. Tomorrow at three. Derek's hands. Derek's voice. Derek saying her name like it meant something.
Her phone buzzed again.
Adrian: Working late. Don't wait up.
She almost laughed. Don't wait up. As if she ever did.
She typed back: Okay.
Then she turned off the light and closed her eyes.
She dreamed of a hotel room.
---
The next day, Vanessa arrived at the hotel at 2:45 PM.
She'd told Adrian she was going to the spa. He'd nodded without looking up from his computer. He didn't ask which spa. He didn't ask when she'd be back. He just nodded, like everything she said was background noise.
Derek was already in the room.
He was standing by the window, looking out at the city. He turned when she walked in. His face was conflicted — desire and guilt fighting for space.
"You came," she said.
"I always come."
She walked to him. Put her hands on his chest. Felt his heart beating too fast.
"We should stop," he said.
"We should."
Neither of them moved.
"Derek." She said his name softly. "Look at me."
He did. His eyes were dark, uncertain.
"I need this," she said. "I need you."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the guilt was still there — but so was something else. Want. Hunger. The same hunger she felt.
"One more time," he said.
"One more time," she agreed.
She kissed him.
---
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, neither speaking.
Vanessa traced a line down his chest. "You're thinking about him."
"I'm always thinking about him."
"Don't. Not here."
Derek sat up. Ran his hands through his hair. "This is killing me, Vanessa. The lying. The hiding. I can't —"
"You can." She sat up beside him. "You have been. For two years."
"Exactly. Two years." He looked at her. "How much longer?"
She didn't have an answer.
He stood up. Started dressing.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Leaving. Before I say something we'll both regret."
"Derek —"
He stopped at the door. Didn't turn around.
"I love you," he said. "But I don't know if love is supposed to feel like this."
Then he walked out.
Vanessa sat alone in the hotel room, still naked, still flushed, and stared at the closed door.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian: What do you want for dinner?
She stared at the message. He never asked that. He never asked anything.
She typed back: Whatever.
Then she got dressed and drove home.
---
That night, Adrian made pasta.
Vanessa sat at the kitchen island, watching him move around the stove. He was trying. She could see that. He was trying to be present, to be attentive, to be a husband.
But it was too late. She'd already given herself to someone else.
"How was the spa?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Relaxing?"
"Very."
He nodded. Put the pasta in a bowl. Set it in front of her.
She ate without tasting.
After dinner, she went to bed early. Adrian stayed up, reading something on his tablet. When he finally came to bed, she was already asleep — or pretending to be.
He didn't touch her.
She felt his weight settle on the mattress. Felt the distance between them, wide as an ocean.
Her phone, hidden under her pillow, buzzed once.
Derek: I'm sorry.
She didn't reply.
She just closed her eyes and waited for morning.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD