For four years, I’ve been married, and all this time, my husband has been the perfect partner—hardly a serious argument to recall.
Lately, we’ve been thinking about starting a family. We’ve been trying, planning, but with no luck so far. My hormonal imbalance is the culprit, yet my husband’s never blamed me. We agreed that if we couldn’t have our own, we’d consider adoption.
I thought we were nearly the ideal couple, except for the missing spark, the passion that would’ve made it complete.
I have a good friend, Emily, who hasn’t settled down yet, so we spend plenty of time together, often going shopping. Emily’s stunning—always well kept, hits the gym, and earns well, too. She knows my husband, Richard—they sometimes go to the same fitness club, but their schedules rarely overlap.
I’m not the jealous type, and I trusted Richard—until one evening. He was due back from the gym, so I popped out to buy bread for supper. Between the supermarket aisles, I saw something ugly: Richard wasn’t just flirting with Emily—he had his arm around her. The second they noticed me, they sprang apart, but the damage was done. I burst into tears and ran out, Richard chasing after me.
Outside, he swore nothing happened, that they’d just been standing close—my imagination running wild. He sounded so convincing, I almost believed him. Almost.
At home, I packed a bag and left for my parents’ house. I didn’t tell Mum or Dad—they’ve got tempers, and Dad would’ve gone straight to Richard. Now, I’m here, trying to figure out what’s next. There’s no solid reason for divorce, but I can’t honestly say I love him anymore. Emily keeps calling, but I don’t want to talk. Who knows what she’d say? If she tries to convince me I imagined it, it’ll only make things worse. I don’t trust her now—she’s probably just saving her own skin.
