It all started so innocently, didn’t it? My husband has this coworker, his assistant, really. Always hovering, always there. He swore it was professional, just business. But I saw the glances, the way they laughed at each other’s jokes, the way he seemed to light up more around her. I swallowed the jealousy, told myself I was being silly. He loves me. Then came the promotion. The same promotion. Now it wasn’t just “assistant,” it was direct competition. And suddenly, he was spending more time with her prepping, strategizing, than he was with me. My stomach twisted. It felt like a slow, agonizing betrayal, even if it was just in my head. Was it just in my head?
The final blow came when he told me about the week-long business trip. “With her,” he added, almost as an afterthought. My heart sank. A whole week? Away? Just the two of them? I tried to smile, to be the supportive wife, but inside, I was screaming. But he left out one crucial detail. I found it later, tucked into his travel wallet: the detailed itinerary. They weren’t just on the same trip; they were sharing a hotel room. One room. One king-sized bed. My breath hitched. I felt cold. Utterly, completely cold.
I didn’t blow up. No yelling, no tears, no dramatic confrontation. What good would that do? He’d deny it, make me feel crazy. No, I had a plan. A quiet, calculated plan. I knew the specific car service company his office used. I knew the name of his booking agent. An anonymous call, a fabricated complaint about prior service, a request for a “re-routing” that would cause just enough chaos, enough delay, to disrupt their perfect, cozy arrangement. I just wanted them to be uncomfortable. To miss connections. To experience the same knot of frustration I felt. I wanted him to regret every second of that trip. I wanted to make sure that shared room never happened, or at least, that it was a miserable experience. Petty? Maybe. But I was so hurt.
I helped him pack that morning. Kissed him goodbye. Smiled. Watched him drive away with her, their suitcases in the trunk. I felt a weird mix of triumph and emptiness. The house felt too big without him. A few hours later, I was cleaning up after breakfast, trying to feel some peace, when my phone rang. It was him.
I picked up, a small smile playing on my lips. Ready for him to complain about the delay, about his new, separate room. But his voice… it was raw, broken. “Baby,” he sobbed, the sound tearing through me, “I just wanted to say goodbye because…”
My blood ran cold. “Because what?” I whispered, my hand shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.
“… because the new car service they sent, the one after the first one was cancelled… it crashed. We were rushing to the airport. The roads were awful, and… I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
My world exploded. ALL OF IT. The jealousy, the plan, the quiet anger… it all evaporated into a chilling, deafening silence. NO. IT CAN’T BE. My plan. My stupid, vindictive plan. I just wanted to cause a delay. I wanted him to be miserable. I NEVER. OH MY GOD. I KILLED HIM.
