Your Cheatin' Wife

On the way home from work, Carol got a greasy sand­wich at a fast food joint. She hated the food. She hated hav­ing to work late all the time. If Chuck would give her the pro­mo­tion she de­served, she wouldn‘t have to work late.

Chuck made it abund­antly, if subtly, clear what she had to do to get pro­moted. She didn‘t want to spread for him. She wanted a pro­mo­tion be­cause she earned it, not be­cause she fucked the boss.

God, what a miser­able way to live!

Frank‘s pickup truck was in the drive­way when she got home. Carol col­lapsed on the couch and kicked off her shoes. Her feet hurt. Her back felt like it was on fire. Her head ached. Just what Frank wanted to hear!

They really had to do some­thing. The only time they had to­gether was on the week­end, and then they were so busy do­ing chores and shop­ping, they had little time for each other.

The house was too quiet. She felt a mo­ment­ary, but po­tent, pang of loneli­ness. She sighed and shrugged off the feel­ing. Frank had to be home. His truck was parked in the drive­way. He was prob­ably in the den, play­ing with his com­puter. She opened the door to the den and stopped dead in her tracks.