I heard the phone vibrating stubbornly in my purse. I pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and read the message. I can't say it sparked any joyful emotions or a rush of spiritual energy...
"Is that your little Romeo?" asked Gail, with whom I shared an office. "I bet he's writing to say how much he loves and misses you? And that he can't wait for the moment he sees you again..."
I caught a hint of mockery in her voice.
"I wish!" I replied with an ironic smile, quoting the text: "Hey, babe. Pick up sugar and coffee. Love you. Mark."
"Oh, don't make that face! He did write 'love you,'" my friend noted.
"And that explains everything? We've only been married three years, and his messages have already devolved into grocery lists or coordinating dinner plans. It's not supposed to be like this..." I trailed off because Gail started giggling. "What's so funny?"
"Sorry, but it really is kind of amusing. What are you, fifteen? Only starry-eyed teenagers and out-of-touch Hollywood screenwriters believe that the honeymoon phase lasts forever..."
"It's not about that. I just wish Mark would actually say how he feels once in a while, but he's like every other guy—he thinks actions speak louder than words."
"Actions are good too, aren't they?" she smiled. "But if you buy some sexy lingerie and spend the weekend with your husband, believe me, you won't be lacking for sweet talk next week."
I shrugged and went back to work, having no desire to continue the conversation. What does Gail know? She doesn't understand a romantic soul, I thought irritably, but I made a mental note to stop by a boutique on the way home just in case. Exactly at 5:00 PM, as we were leaving the office, my phone chimed again.
I looked at the screen in surprise: "Hello, my angel! What can I do to see that divine smile of yours again?" I read it and went numb, because this passionate message didn't come from my husband, but from an unknown number. I sighed sadly and quickly typed a reply: "I think you have the wrong number. Unfortunately." To my surprise, another message appeared a minute later: "Unfortunately? In that case, I am more than certain that this is the right number—exactly the one I need."
Quite the comedian, I thought, and headed to the store so my favorite man would have coffee for breakfast. And... something a bit hotter.
***
When I got home, Mark was sitting at his computer, staring at columns of numbers, spreadsheets, and charts.
"Did you get the coffee?" my husband tossed out without any "Hey, babe" or "How was your day, honey." He didn't even think to turn his head away from the monitor.
"Yes, my lord," I replied sarcastically. "I love you too!"
"What did you say?" he asked, surprised.
"Nothing," I grumbled, not wanting to explain anything, and stomped off to start dinner.
"I'm heading to Chicago for a seminar on Saturday," my better half announced while inhaling his pasta with mushroom sauce.
"Saturday? Why?" I asked, incensed. After all, I had a stunning set of the sexiest lingerie in my bag, which I had intended to test out on that very day.
"I could have asked the boss to send Mike instead, but then Mike gets the bonus," he explained.
"Money again! Is that really the most important thing in life? Why does everything have to be measured by those green strips of paper?" I reproached him.
"Maybe it's not the most important," Mark reluctantly agreed. "But without my bonuses, we can forget about that trip to Cabo. Unless you've suddenly lost interest in going."
I couldn't argue with that logic because I had been dreaming of Cabo for years, and Mark knew it perfectly well. I went to bed feeling hurt, and the next day at the office, I received another strange message: "Morning, beautiful! Hope you slept well last night?"
I smiled and typed a reply: "Thanks, I can't complain. Do we actually know each other?" The next text appeared instantly: "Are you teasing me on purpose? We met at Julia's party. Don't tell me you don't remember?"
I thought about it. Two weeks ago, Mark and I really had been at my cousin Julia's birthday party. But I couldn't remember most of the faces or names because Julia had invited a ton of people. "I'm so sorry, but I really don't recall..." I wrote hastily, and a few seconds later, I read a new message: "You're breaking my heart! You have no idea what I went through to track down your number."
"I see the lingerie worked," Gail remarked, watching with curiosity as I engaged in active correspondence.
"It's not what you think," I explained with some annoyance. "I'm not texting my husband..."
"Then who are you texting?" she asked, surprised, sitting on the edge of my desk.
"Uh, it's nothing," I said, horrified.
"Sure, sure! And 'nothing' is what's making your cheeks flush and your eyes sparkle? Come on, spill... or I'll die of curiosity."
"Fine, okay," I finally gave in and let her look at the messages from my secret admirer.
"I don't like this," Gail stated, looking me dead in the eye with judgment.
"Stop it," I laughed. "It's just an innocent game."
"A game?" she asked seriously. "Seems pretty clear to me: the guy wants you, and you don't seem to mind."
"Don't mind?!" Gasping with indignation, I pointed a finger at my temple. "Are you crazy, Gail? Anyway, don't be such a prude. I admit that texting this man gives me a bit of a thrill, but that doesn't mean I want to sleep with him. Watch how I shut him down right now!" I finished emotionally, grabbed my phone, and wrote: "I'm sorry, but I'm married, and this isn't going anywhere."
Gail looked at the text and patted me on the shoulder, showing her satisfaction, and my secret admirer didn't reply. However, that evening, while Mark and I were watching TV, it all started again. "You know, I have a family too, but my wife and I are unhappy. We're just living out of habit. You're different. I miss you. I want to see your smile," I read the heated message from my persistent admirer on the sly, making up a reply on the fly.
"This movie is so boring. I think I'll go take a shower," I told my husband. Once in the bathroom, I pulled out the phone.
"I feel miserable sometimes too... And sometimes it feels like the whole world doesn't understand me..." I typed back.
A minute later, my phone vibrated again: "I would understand you, my angel. Just give me a chance, and you'll see for yourself that the best is yet to come."
"Sure," I muttered, pretending his messages weren't affecting me, though they were... I was lying to myself. That same night, when Mark wanted to make love, I realized I wasn't thinking about him.
***
"So, how's your secret admirer? Has he reached out again?" a curious Gail asked the next day.
"No. I think he took what I wrote to heart," I lied.
All day, work wasn't happening, but the new acquaintance was gaining momentum. To avoid piquing my neighbor's interest, I hid the mobile in my pocket, and as soon as the phone started vibrating—signaling another message—I ran to the restroom to quietly read the text and reply immediately. Unfortunately, the effect was the opposite of what I intended, as my friend began to worry about my health.
"It's nothing serious!" I insisted. "Just a bit of an upset stomach. It'll pass."
But I knew that if my phone flirting lasted much longer, Gail would be calling an ambulance. I started replying to the texts less frequently. But that didn't cool off my secret admirer. The less I wrote, the more passionate his messages became. Over the weekend, while my husband vanished from my life for three whole days, the correspondence with my adorer accelerated.
By Saturday, I knew quite a bit about him: his name was Ryan, he was four years older than me, and his views and hobbies aligned with mine in many ways. We both loved Italian food, cycling, and late-night snacks. A total dream, I thought dreamily.
But then I received a message that instantly sobered me up: "My angel, let's meet." I knew perfectly well I couldn't do that. Innocent flirting on the phone is one thing, but a date with a stranger while your husband is away is disgusting. "Sorry, I can't," I quickly sent the reply and tossed the phone into the corner.
There you go, Ilona! Bravo! Stay strong. You don't want to meet him at all! I praised myself and mentally pinned a "Faithful Wife of the Year" gold medal to my chest for resisting temptation. Just as I calmed down, my phone came to life again. This time, it wasn't a message, but a call.
"Hello?" I answered hesitantly.
"Ilona, it's me, Ryan. Please, don't hang up. I'm sorry to call, but meeting you is really important to me."
"Listen, I told you it's impossible," I said in a glacial tone.
But that didn't stop him.
"My angel, I'm not asking for anything inappropriate." Damn, he had such a sexy voice! "I just want to talk to you. And then we can go our separate ways. Just let me see you one more time. That's all."
"I'll think about it," I replied softly and ended the call.
I'll think about it?! God, what an idiot! Why did I say that? I should have shut him down immediately. Why am I acting like a total fool?! I scolded myself and picked up the phone to send a message that would finally end this pseudo-romance. But then a crazy idea suddenly popped into my head: Maybe it's better to just see him? Nothing works on a feverish imagination quite like a cold shower. I was more than certain my admirer would turn out to be some unremarkable, balding, chubby guy, not a Prince Charming. Or rather, that's what I wanted to believe...
We agreed to meet on the outskirts of town at a little hipster café where none of my friends ever go. I'm doing this for Mark. For us! I thought before leaving, but just in case, I put on heavy makeup and the lingerie I had bought to seduce Mark. Well...
At exactly eight, I arrived at the designated spot. I scanned the crowd for a potential Ryan: some average guy who was also looking at me with clear interest. I was already slowly heading toward him when someone suddenly placed a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw a tall, dark-haired man who looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine. The guy was handsome and well-built, with stunning dark eyes. Basically, compared to everyone else, he looked divine!
"Ryan?" I asked in surprise, and he smiled, gesturing for me to join him at a small table in the back.
We talked for three hours. My companion showered me with compliments and complained about his significant other, who didn't appreciate him at all. I felt sorry for him. Yielding to that feeling, I took his hand and said a few comforting words. And when it was time to say goodbye, I couldn't just leave him like that.
"Want to take a walk?" I suggested timidly. We walked along the narrow paths, holding hands. Eventually, we reached a small boutique hotel.
"Would you like to go in?" he asked tentatively, and I nodded in agreement.
We were both trembling with anticipation. We kissed several times in the hallway, and once inside the room, we helped each other out of our clothes. Seeing my sexy lingerie, Ryan smiled ever so slightly, as if he had found indisputable proof that I had planned to spend this night in his arms, and with one strong movement, he pulled me toward him.
By the way, in the bedroom, he was nothing like Mark. My husband is calm, but there was something wild and uninhibited about Ryan... I had never made love like that—passionately and freely, without any brakes. This guy knew how to please a woman.
***
I woke up in the hotel room in a bed that smelled of sex. My wonderful lover looked much worse in the daylight than he had the night before. Or maybe he just seemed more beautiful yesterday after those glasses of wine? Or perhaps it was the pangs of conscience that stripped away his former charm? I don't know. Regardless, I quickly gathered my things scattered on the floor and got dressed, then wrote a short note to the object of my night's passion: "What happened, happened. Don't look for me again. Goodbye. Ilona."
Returning home, I stood under the shower for a long time, trying to wash off the scent of someone else's body. It felt as if the guilt would wash away with it. I succeeded with the former, but the latter—alas. All Sunday I tormented myself, asking how I could have allowed this intimacy, and in such an absurdly short time, since less than a week had passed from the first text to that passionate night.
When Mark returned, I took to the bed, faking a sharp migraine. I didn't have the courage to look my husband in the eye. I hoped Ryan had listened to my request and vanished from my life.
After a couple of weeks, I somehow managed to get used to the thought of what I had done. Though a disgusting feeling toward myself remained. But I sincerely repented for what I had done and mentally promised Mark that I would never betray him again as long as I lived. Paradoxically, thanks to this spontaneous affair, my husband and I were experiencing a second honeymoon, living in near bliss.
Time passed, and I gradually calmed down, deciding that my foul deed had sunk into oblivion. And then, suddenly, Ryan called my mobile again. I saw his number on the display, and my heart dropped with fear. My God, why is he looking for me?
Of course, I didn't answer, but Ryan kept calling and calling. Finally, gathering my courage, I decided to speak with him. I wanted to make it clear there would be no repeat performance, to explain that I love my husband and won't allow any more cheating!
"Hello," I said quite dryly.
"Hello, my angel," Ryan replied in a completely unrecognizable voice.
"What do you want?" I continued, shaking with indignation. "I wrote to you telling you not to look for me anymore. Is that so hard to understand?!"
"I'm sorry, but I had to call you," he said so seriously that my legs suddenly gave out. It was a premonition of disaster. "Listen, I don't know how to say this... To put it bluntly, my wife was also unfaithful to me..."
"I'm sorry for you," I interrupted, "but what does that have to do with me?"
"Well..." Ryan hesitated, "she caught something and, naturally, infected me. And then you and I met. Basically, you need to go to a doctor and get tested immediately..."
Cursing, I nervously hung up. I'll have to tell Mark everything. But how? I thought, choking on my tears. Brainless fool! Over what did I destroy my family?! I thought that by flirting with a man on the phone, I could stop at any moment. And here is the result!
Today I know that my poor health is the result of a progressing illness. It looks like Mark has the same problem. The doctor warned me that I must tell my husband the truth immediately, otherwise the disease will get worse. But how can I confess my betrayal to him?! What if Mark divorces me when he finds out? If I were in his shoes, I certainly wouldn't forgive something like this. Or maybe, just maybe, he'll have mercy on me? I don't dare dream of anything else now...
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