Wife Revenge

A Double Life

Chris woke up having only the most fragile light of dawn glimmering through the blinds, doing absolutely nothing to dispel the thick haze leftover from beers last night. He drew an exaggerated breath and stretched, then instinctively reached over to Amy's side of the bed only to find it cold and empty. His expression fell into a frown at the flicker of annoyance that passed through him. Most probably, she was clearing out the morning with her ridiculously healthy green smoothie and gearing up for yet another dissection of legal ratiocination. He let slip a sigh. Amy. She's...fine. Predictable. Dependable. But the spark, the thrill, fizzled out long ago and was replaced by a comfortable almost suffocating routine within these walls.

He threw his legs around the side of the bed. The floor was brisk, a welcome jolt. As he padded toward the bathroom, the mind drifted on Janet. Now, Janet was exciting. Janet was vibrant. Janet laughed at his jokes, admired his ambition, and made him feel like the man he once was before the weight of all the mortgages and marital expectations had settled on his shoulders. An innocent late-night work email, a casual coffee, then lunch, and suddenly they were entangled in stolen moments and whispered promises.

That morning, when which he glimpsed at himself in the mirror: a late-thirty man - a little softer around the middle than he would have wanted, but still in his own judgement quite presentable, -lazily, stroking a hand through his set of disheveled hair. He was excellent at the job, a rising star in the market, and a place star who terribly needed a shot on. Amy was always... so very much serious. So much focused on career and future-hers, his and everything but him. He told himself it was his fault. He blamed her most of the time, saying that her emotional distance pushed him away and then he looked for consolidation in something outside of home.

Of course, he knew he was lying: it was a convenient story he had constructed in order to exonerate himself from guilt. Truth is, he just loves the chase, the thrill of being desired, being the center of someone's attention. And Janet, easy laughter and admiration glistening in her eyes, has that in spades. Bright, new, splashed color in his otherwise dull domestic life.

He quickly showered while the hot water did little for him to wash him clean from that faint smell of Janet's perfume clinging to him, making sure he was dressed promptly thereafter in a crisp shirt and fitted trousers, his uniform of a successful, respectable man. It was almost laughable to him. A master of appearances, he would be the perfect chameleon, and it made the things that would shift between the devoted husband and the passionate lover almost effortless. Sometimes exhausting, but the thrill of the deception, the almost constant tightrope walk became its kind of addiction, sometimes in a strange mood.

Going through the kitchen, he heard the familiar whirr of Amy's blender at work in the early morning, a little bit strengthening for him, preparing for the eventualities of the day: passionate morning pleasantries, forced smiles, and an unspoken tension that hung between them like a shroud. He pushed open the door into the kitchen, his practiced smile already fixed in place.

"Morning, honey," he said, a bit too cheerful for him. "Sleep well?" Amy turned to him, her expression unreadable. "Oh, the usual," she said flatly. She would not meet his gaze; her eyes were fixed on her blender. A prickle of irritation tingled in him. Why couldn't she be normal? Why did she always have to be so very... guarded?

He poured himself a cup of coffee for himself, letting its rich aroma fill the air. "Hectic day ahead," he mumbled on, hoping to divert the conversation from anything personal. He glanced at his phone, a quick check of his messages. Nothing from Janet yet. He felt the pang of disappointment. He'd sent her a text last night, a playful message around their next rendezvous. Usually, she replied instantly.

As he let his mind drift into sweet fantasies about Heather, the new account rep, things got even more intense. She was young and fresh, with a stunning laugh and sparkling eyes whenever she spoke about her ambitious ambitions. He would have caught himself thinking about her more than once, the fact that she was apparently forbidden making this thrill all the more irresistible. Dangerous turf, he knew, but the thought of her-so full of life, burdened by nothing-was a temptation beyond compare. Jesus... why'd I have to think of my wife?

The office was buzzing with activity, the usual morning buzz of calls and emails. Chris settled in at his cubicle, with mind half on Janet, half on Heather. He casually opened his email and noticed a new one from Janet. His heart gave a little leap. "Can't wait for tonight," it read, followed by a winking emoji. A smile spread across his face. "Tonight, at our usual spot-a discreet bar downtown-followed by a few hours at her apartment." The thought sent a jolt of anticipation through him.

His morning was dissolved into commotion, and through it all, his head was only halfway there. He nodded at the appropriate moments, made adroit comments, but basically maintained the shape of an industrious devotee. Straits were confused with his wanting idea and illusion down, but preferable to that he was very good in compartmentalizing life into different compartments and playing a skillful game. Life.

He was on a break and walking past Heather's desk. He turned upward, and his eyes met hers as a slow smile graced her features. "Morning, Chris," she said, her voice a humming melody. "Big presentation today?"

"Just another day in the trenches," he said, leaning against her cubicle wall, the casual flirtation in his tone. "You look... refreshed."

Bright and clear sounded her laughter. "Early morning yoga. Keeps me sane."

He lingered for a moment, enjoying the easy banter, the subtle current of attraction that hummed between them. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. Heather was a challenge, a new conquest waiting to happen. The thought was exhilarating, a dangerous thrill that made his blood sing.

Then Call Hendricks later that afternoon on Chris, his boss, "Chris?" Hendricks' voice was rather gruff. Chris almost scrambled his mind, wondering what he missed. "Yes...well...can you repeat the question?" he stammered, still recovering from his enjoyment of the intensely vivid little fantasy he just drew up about Heather.

Hendricks sighed. "I asked if you had finalized the Q3 projections. We need them by the end of the day."

"Right, the projections. Of course," Chris said, forcing a confident tone. He quickly steered the conversation back to work, his heart pounding. He was losing his edge; getting sloppy. He needed to focus. But these were images of Janet and Heather, tangled in his own desires, severely distracting him. As the end of the day approached, there was that all-too-common rush of excitement. Janet. He quickly shot her a message that it was still on for later. An instant guilt surfaced as Amy crossed his mind, alone at home. That was quickly dismissed. He deserved this. He deserved to be happy. And if that happiness came at the expense of his marriage, then so be it. He was a man with needs, and Amy, in her quiet, distant way, wasn't fulfilling them. He was merely taking what he was owed. The lie, once a whisper, had become a roar, drowning out the last vestiges of his conscience.