"Honey, I'm ho-ome," Matt warbled as he entered the kitchen and tossed his keys into a bowl on the table. Loosening his tie, he made for the bedroom, where he expected to find his wife changing from her work clothes.

Instead he met her in the dining room, glaring at him from behind a laptop computer through eyes red from crying. She knew. To deny or rationalize the affair would insult her intelligence and make matters worse.

"It's over, I promise," he said simply.

"Oh? So are we."

The next evening, Matt swiped a card to unlock his door.

* * * 
© 2012 by M.P. Witwer • All rights reserved