CHEATING HUSBAND’S SICK LOVE

A week later I buy muffins.

Caramel. From that new bakery on 5th that has a two-hour line on weekends but is empty on Tuesday afternoons. I get six. I figure I'll bring them up, surprise him, maybe have lunch in his office.

I use the executive elevator. My name's still on the building. Nobody stops me.

I knock on his office door.

"I said no interruptions. Get out."

I've never heard that voice before. Not from him. Not directed at anyone.

"Nathan. It's me."

A pause. Then the door clicks open — he hit the remote from across the room.

The curtains are drawn. The room is dim. He's backlit, standing behind his desk, and I can't read his face.

I stop a few feet inside the door.

"You okay?" I ask.

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Mia Bear. What are you doing here?"

"Brought you something." I hold up the bag. "You haven't been eating."

"I'm fine." He moves toward me. "Just tired. Big week."

I feed him a piece of muffin like I've done a hundred times. He chews. His jaw is tight.

"It's good," he says. Like he's reading off a card.

"Who were you on with?" I nod toward his laptop. "Didn't know you had a call."

"Finished up just now." He takes the bag from me and puts it on the desk. "You should head home, babe. I'll be late. Don't wait up."

I look at him for a second too long.

"Okay," I say. "Don't overdo it."

I turn around. Walk out.

I'm twenty feet down the hall, waiting for the elevator, when I hear his office door open again.

I don't turn around. I look at the elevator button.

Footsteps. A woman's heels. Click click click.

I look.

Vanessa.

Her hair has a strand loose. Her blouse is slightly — just slightly — untucked on one side. She walks past me without making eye contact and disappears around the corner.

The elevator opens.

I stand there.

I don't get in.

I think about his office. His desk. How big it is. How dim the room was. How he told me to go home.

The elevator closes again without me.

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