I heard my phone stubbornly vibrating in my purse. I pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and read the message. I can’t say it sparked joyful emotions or a surge of inner strength…
— Is that your Timothy? — asked Grace, my office mate, with a hint of curiosity. — Probably writing that he loves you and misses you? Can’t wait to see you…
I caught a slight mocking tone in her voice.
— If only! — I replied with an ironic smile, quoting the text: “Hey, treasure. Buy sugar and coffee. Love you. Timothy.”
— Oh, don’t make that face! He did say ‘I love you,’ — my friend pointed out.
— And that explains everything? We’ve been married just three years, and his messages are either shopping lists or dinner plans. It shouldn’t be like this… — I trailed off as Grace giggled. — What’s so funny?
— Sorry, but it’s kind of amusing. What are you, fifteen? Only naive teens and out-of-touch Hollywood screenwriters believe euphoria lasts forever…
— That’s not the point. I wish Timothy would at least sometimes openly share what he feels for me, but like most men, 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, trust me, you won’t lack sweet words the following week.
I shrugged and returned to work, not wanting to continue the conversation. “What does Grace know? She doesn’t get my romantic soul,” I thought irritably, but just in case, I promised myself I’d stop by a lingerie store on the way home. At exactly 5:00 p.m., as we were leaving the office, my phone buzzed again.
I glanced at the screen in surprise: “Hey, my angel! What can I do to see your divine smile again?” I read it and froze—this fiery message wasn’t from my husband but from an unknown number. I sighed sadly and quickly typed a reply: “I think this is a mistake. Sorry.” To my surprise, a minute later, another text appeared: “Sorry? In that case, I’m more than sure this is the right number—the one I need.”
“Some joker,” I thought, heading to the store to ensure my beloved husband had coffee for breakfast. And… something a bit spicier.
When I got home, Timothy was glued to the computer, staring at columns of numbers, tables, and charts.
— Did you get the coffee? — he tossed out, without any “Hey, treasure” or “How’s my love doing?” He didn’t even bother turning his head from the screen.
— Yes, my lord, — I replied sarcastically. — I love you too, by the way!
— What did you say? — he asked, surprised.
— Nothing, — I muttered, not wanting to explain, and stomped off to prepare dinner.
— I’m heading to a seminar in Boston on Saturday, — my dear husband announced, devouring pasta with mushroom sauce.
— Saturday? Why? — I asked, indignant. I mean, come on, I had a stunning set of ultra-sexy lingerie in my bag, which I planned to test that very day.
— I could ask the boss to send Michael instead, but then he’d get the bonus, — my love explained.
— Money again! Is that the most important thing in life? Why measure everything by dollar bills? — I reproached him.
— Maybe it’s not the most important, — Timothy reluctantly agreed. — But without my bonuses, we can forget about that vacation in the Bahamas. Unless you’re no longer interested in that trip.
I couldn’t argue with that, as I’d been dreaming of the Bahamas for years, and Timothy knew it. I went to bed upset, and the next day at the office, I got another odd message: “Hey, beautiful! Hope you slept well last night?”
I smiled and typed a reply: “Thanks, I sleep fine. Do we even know each other?” The next text came instantly: “Are you teasing me on purpose? We met at Julia’s party. Don’t tell me you forgot?”
I paused to think. Two weeks ago, Timothy and I had been at my cousin Julia’s birthday party. But I couldn’t recall most of the faces or names since she’d invited a ton of people. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember…” — I wrote hastily, and moments later, a new message popped up: “You’re breaking my heart! You have no idea what I went through to get your number.”
— Looks like the sexy lingerie worked, — Grace remarked, watching my active texting with curiosity.
— It’s not what you think, — I said with some annoyance. — I’m not texting my husband…
— So who are you writing to? — she asked, surprised, perching on the edge of my desk.
— Uh, it’s nothing serious, — I stammered, horrified.
— Sure, sure! And ‘nothing serious’ put that blush on your cheeks and sparkle in your eyes? Come on, spill it, or I’ll die of curiosity…
— Fine, alright, — I gave in, letting her read the messages from my secret admirer.
— I don’t like this, — Grace declared, looking at me disapprovingly.
— Oh, stop it, — I laughed. — It’s just harmless fun.
— Fun? — she asked seriously.
— Look, it’s obvious: the guy’s into you, and you don’t seem to mind.
— Don’t mind?! — I gasped, indignantly twirling my finger at my temple. — Are you serious, Grace? And don’t be so uptight. I admit, texting this guy is kind of fun, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with him. Watch, I’ll shut him down right now! — I finished emotionally, grabbed my phone, and wrote: “I’m sorry, but I’m married, and nothing’s going to happen.”
Grace glanced at the text and patted my shoulder, showing her approval. My secret admirer didn’t reply. But that evening, while Timothy and I were watching TV, it started again. “You know, I have a family too, but my wife and I are unhappy. We’re just going through the motions. You’re different. I miss you. I want to see your smile,” I read secretly, crafting a reply on the fly.
— This movie’s so boring. I’m hitting the shower, — I said to my husband. In the bathroom, I pulled out my phone.
“Sometimes I feel down too… Like the whole world doesn’t get me…” — I typed.
A minute later, my phone vibrated again: “I’d understand you, my angel. Just give me a chance, and you’ll see there’s still beauty ahead for us.”
— Sure, — I muttered, pretending his messages didn’t affect me, though I was lying to myself. That evening, when Timothy wanted to get intimate, I realized I wasn’t thinking about him.
— So, how’s your secret admirer? Hasn’t texted again? — curious Grace asked the next day.
— Nope. I think he took my message to heart, — I lied.
Work dragged all day, but my new acquaintance was picking up steam. To avoid Grace’s nosiness, I kept my phone in my pocket, and whenever it vibrated with a new message, I dashed to the restroom to read and reply. Unfortunately, this backfired, as my friend started worrying about my health.
— It’s nothing serious! — I assured her. — Just a little stomach issue. It’ll pass.
But I knew if my phone flirtation went on much longer, Grace would call an ambulance. I started replying less often, but that didn’t cool my secret admirer’s enthusiasm. The less I wrote, the more passionate his messages became. Over the weekend, when my husband vanished for three days, the texting with my admirer sped up.
By Saturday, I knew quite a bit about him: his name was Roman, four years older than me, and his views and hobbies aligned with mine. We both loved Italian food, cycling, and smoked sausages. “A true ideal,” I thought dreamily.
But then a message snapped me back to reality: “My angel, let’s meet.” I knew I couldn’t. A harmless phone flirt was one thing, but a date with a stranger while my husband was away was vile. “Sorry, I can’t,” I sent quickly and tossed the phone aside.
“Good job, Ellen! Stay strong. You don’t want to meet him!” — I praised myself, mentally pinning a “Most Faithful Wife of the Year” medal on my chest for resisting temptation. Just as I calmed down, my phone sprang to life again—not with a text but a call.
— Hello? — I answered hesitantly.
— Ellen, it’s Roman. Please don’t hang up. I’m sorry for calling, but this meeting really matters to me.
— I told you it’s impossible, — I said icily.
But he didn’t back down.
— My angel, I’m not asking for anything improper. — Damn, his voice was so sexy! — I just want to talk. Then we’ll go our separate ways. Let me see you one more time. That’s all.
— I’ll think about it, — I replied softly, ending the call.
“I’ll think about it?! God, what an idiot! Why did I say that? I should’ve shut him down right away. Why am I acting like a complete fool?!” — I scolded myself, grabbing the phone to send a message that would end this pseudo-romance for good. But then a crazy idea hit me: “What if meeting him is better? Nothing cools an overheated imagination like a cold shower.” I was certain my admirer would turn out to be a balding, chubby nobody, not some heartthrob. Or rather, I hoped so…
We agreed to meet on the city outskirts at a trendy café where none of my acquaintances ever went. “I’m doing this for my husband. For us!” — I thought before leaving, but just in case, I did bold makeup and wore the lingerie I’d bought to seduce Timothy. Oh well…
At eight sharp, I arrived at the spot. I spotted a potential Roman in the crowd: an average guy eyeing me with obvious interest. I started walking toward him slowly when someone placed a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw a tall, tanned brunette who looked like a Latino. The guy was handsome, well-built, with stunning dark eyes. Compared to everyone else, he looked divine!
— Roman? — I asked, surprised. He smiled and gestured toward a small table at the back of the café.
We talked for three hours. My companion showered me with compliments and complained about his wife, who didn’t value him. I felt sorry for him. Giving in to that feeling, I took his hand and offered a few comforting words. When it was time to part, I couldn’t just leave him.
— Want to take a walk? — I suggested shyly. We strolled through narrow paths, holding hands, until we reached a small hotel.
— Would you like to go in? — he asked hesitantly. I nodded.
We were both trembling with anticipation. In the hallway, we kissed several times, and once in the room, we helped each other out of our clothes. Seeing my sexy lingerie, Roman gave a faint smile, as if he’d found undeniable proof I’d planned to spend the night in his arms, and with one strong pull, drew me close.
By the way, in bed, he was nothing like Timothy. My husband is calm, but Roman had something wild, untamed… I’d never made love so passionately and freely, with no inhibitions. This guy knew how to please a woman.
I woke up in the hotel room on sheets that smelled of sex. My incredible lover looked far less appealing in daylight. Or had he seemed more charming last night after a few glasses of wine? Or maybe guilt had stripped him of his allure? I don’t know. Either way, I quickly gathered my clothes scattered on the floor, dressed, and left a short note for my nocturnal passion: “What happened, happened. Don’t look for me again. Goodbye. Ellen.”
Back home, I stood under the shower for ages, trying to wash off the scent of another man’s body. I thought it might also cleanse the guilt. The first part worked decently; the second, not so much. All Sunday, I tormented myself, wondering how I could’ve let this happen, and in such an absurdly short time—less than a week from the first text to that passionate night.
When Timothy returned, I took to bed, faking a severe migraine. I didn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes. I hoped Roman had heeded my request and vanished from my life.
A couple of weeks later, I somewhat came to terms with what I’d done. The self-loathing lingered, but I genuinely regretted it and mentally vowed to Timothy I’d never betray him again. Paradoxically, thanks to this impulsive affair, we were experiencing a second honeymoon, almost in paradise.
Time passed, and I gradually calmed down, believing my shameful act was buried in the past. Then Roman called my phone again. Seeing his number on the screen, my heart sank with fear. God, why is he contacting me?
I didn’t answer, but Roman kept calling. Finally, mustering courage, I decided to talk and make it clear there’d be no repeat, that I love my husband and won’t allow another betrayal.
— Hello, — I said coldly.
— Hey, my angel, — Roman replied in a completely unfamiliar voice.
— What do you want? — I continued, trembling with indignation. — I told you not to contact me again. Is that so hard to understand?!
— Sorry, but I had to call, — he said so seriously that my legs buckled. It was a premonition of disaster. — Listen, I don’t know how to say this… Basically, my wife was unfaithful too…
— I’m sorry, — I interrupted, — but what does that have to do with me?
— Well… — Roman hesitated, — she caught something and, naturally, passed it to me. Then we met. Long story short, you need to see a doctor and get tested ASAP…
Cursing, I hung up nervously. “I’ll have to tell Timothy everything. But how?” — I thought, choking on tears. — “Stupid, stupid fool! Who did I destroy our family for?! I thought I could flirt with a guy over the phone and stop anytime. And here’s the result!”
Today, I know my poor health is due to a progressing illness. It seems Timothy has the same problem. The doctor warned I must tell my husband the truth immediately, or the disease will worsen. But how do I confess my infidelity?! What if Timothy divorces me when he finds out? In his shoes, I wouldn’t forgive such a thing. Or maybe he’ll take pity on me? I don’t dare dream of anything else now…
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