Is Your Wife Cheating on You and You Know It?

My wifes been cheating, you hear? That phone call buzzed in my ears for the whole trek home, like a relentless fly you cant swat away with a slap or a shout. I was jammed into a cramped carriage on the train, staring out at the sootblack window where my own gaunt reflection stared back, and I felt anger and doubt, heavy as lead, creep up my throat with cold, ironclad fingers.

It all began on an unremarkable Friday that has since been stained in my mind with bleak, funeralblack shades. My brotherinlaw, Tom, a plainspoken bloke, slipped a slowacting poison into my life with a single conversation, and ever since Ive come back, that poisoned world refuses to settle into its old, familiar shape that meant so much to me.

When I finally got back, I was on the chilly balcony of my London flat, elbows on the rail, ready to step out. My navy suit fit like a glove, the tie knotted just right, and two West End theatre tickets lay in the inner pocket of my jacket. A cigarette Id lit in nervous anticipation was now ashfilled, its crumble mirroring the way I felt, but Emma was still in the bedroom, behind the closed door. I could hear the soft rustle of her dress, the light tread of her feet on the parquet. When she finally appeared in the doorway, bathed in the warm glow of the crystal chandelier, I forgot everything Toms snide whisper, the gnawing worm of jealousy. She was as dazzling as ever. Losing her would be like choosing a permanent winter over the sunshine.

Emma, were already late, how long are you going to dawdle? I asked, the impatience in my voice tinged with the bitter edge that had been poisoning every thought.

She slipped onto the balcony with a mischievous smile that had once driven me mad.

Look, Jack, your favourites, she chirped, and her eyes sparkled with playful light.

Gracefully, almost like a ballerina, she lifted a sleek leg from beneath the hem of her evening dress, flashing delicate scarlet pumps perched on an almost invisible heel.

I hid them away in the back of the wardrobe and swore I wouldnt wear them until my main audience returned home, she said, as if reading my dark, fearful thoughts, casting the words as a protective charm, a proof of her loyalty and love.

I stared at her, wordlessly, while in my head a wornout record kept playing Toms uncertain, stammering voice.

Shes started turning up there far too often echoed in my ears, mixing with the citys clamor.

Later, behind the wheel of my car, the familiar grit of the steering wheel under my palm, I replayed that fateful conversation again. Tom, after the usual hollow small talk about work, fell silent then began spouting some vague, slurred sounds, and the name Emma slipped out like shards of glass.

Come on, spit it out, dont string me along! I finally snapped, exhausted by the heavy pauses that clearly hid something nasty.

Gathering his courage, Tom blurted out that my wife had been visiting a certain Simon quite often Simon, the bearded, longhaired advocate of a newage health regime and all those trendy spiritual practices.

I laughed loudly into the receiver, relief flooding my tone.

Ah, that backyard philosopher! Hes got three kids, chases them around like a mad hen, lives in a private house with a garden and everything. Thats not our sort of city hustle. Youd better watch your own wife, Tom, not some strangers!

Toms voice grew hoarse as he whispered, guilt weighing him down.

My wife, Tina, also went to his sessions for a while. Now she tells me Simon isnt as simple as he looks. Hes been making advances through their joint meditations, some nonsense he calls kamala I dont know exactly how, but the attention hes giving her is obvious.

His shaky confession sounded so sincere that my forced chuckle faded, and the façade Id put on vanished. Long business trips, the emptiness of the house when I was away, my frequent absences all of that opened a crack in my supposedly solid world, letting a hideous worm of doubt crawl in.

Tom, gaining confidence, told me Emma visited Simon three or four times a week, as if it were a job. In all that time she hadnt once visited my elderly mother who lives nearby. Their son had even become a frequent, welcome guest in Simons incenseladen home.

My mind is sharp, I understand psychology well, Tom insisted, puffing on a cigarette. I went over to confront him, but he looked me straight in the eye and spoke so wisely that I felt ashamed of my primitive suspicions. Maybe theres nothing, just idle gossip, but look how the women stare at him, mouths open in awe

How do they look at him? I asked, feeling the ground beneath me give way, my heart beating with a painful tremor.

Ive given you all the facts I have, Tom said gravely. Ive already banned my own wife from seeing him. Its up to you now, brother. Ive done my part.

Paranoia, Tom, youve gone too far, I muttered, making a last, desperate attempt to pull things back to normal. You think Emma and the boy go to his blackmagic sessions or some tryst? You always see the worst in everything.

But that tiny, deadly parasite of doubt, planted by that Fridays call, still lived. It hid deep inside, in the secret corners of my mind, and now, slowly but surely, it stung from within. Glancing at my wifes clear, illuminated profile against the flickering evening lights, I felt a chill as if I were looking at a stranger a beautiful, mysterious woman I could no longer be sure of. And in three days Id have to be off again

Stupid me, I thought bitterly, feeling the heat of shame rise to my cheeks. I leaned down and brushed a kiss on Emmas crown, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. She answered with a warm, soft press of her lips to my cheek and nudged me toward the door.

Come on, lets get them in! Tina wont wait long at the front.

Tina and Tom were wrestling with the open boot of their aging sedan, pulling out huge woven baskets brimming with rosy apples the autumn bounty from their own orchard, a tradition the family always shared.

Take your sweet time getting down, Tina chided, handing me the tiniest, neatest basket clearly meant for Emma. Cant you tear yourself away from your darling?

She glanced at me with a curious look, asking why Id returned so early from my trip. I couldnt fully untangle my own muddled feelings. The old anger, that selfkindled resentment, had faded, but a calm peace hadnt yet settled. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled inside me, making me feel like a tiny leaf caught in a sudden whirlpool, spinning helplessly in dark water, never quite reaching a clear, calm stream. One thing I now knew for sure: Toms accusations were baseless, born from my own jealous mind.

With a almost animal fear, I waited for the dreaded conversation about Simon to start after all, Emmas sister, Tina, had once spun a yarn about Tom. Yet, lifting the biggest basket onto her hip, Tina marched toward the driveway.

Alright, folks, get a move on, dont dawdle! she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying that familiar commanding tone. Keep the chat going, youll have time.

For a while the men stood in a heavy silence, each waiting for the other to break it. Then Tom slammed the boot shut with a clatter and fished a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Want a proper American blend? he asked, looking at me with a rehearsed casualness. Ive got a whole unopened pack from a mate on a tour.

No thanks, Ive got my own, I replied, pulling out my own pack.

By the way, you know the stats, Tom inhaled deeply, letting a plume of smoke drift into the cool evening, eightyfive per cent of divorces are blamed on women, usually because of a simple affair

He fell silent for a beat, and I thought maybe Id finally gotten a breather. Yet Tom seized the moment, leaning close, whispering fragments about his own life, the supposed rival, and his absolute innocence from the poisonous doubts hed planted. He listed, in his practiced tone, every sin he imagined for Emma, lingering on one fact he found most shocking.

Honestly, people have no conscience, Tom blurted, slapping his thighs and leaning toward me, your Emma was seen with that longhaired devil all over town, in your very car! And she didnt even mind dragging little Mick along. The lads barely two!

She took Mick for a massage, I gritted out, he had a foot problem that wouldnt clear, and Simon the chiropractor knows his stuff, being one of those healthnut enthusiasts.

A thick, pressing silence fell between us, heavy enough that even Tom, usually relentless, felt it. He kept gesturing, but with less vigor, as if shielding himself from an invisible threat.

In that silence I recalled the day, driven by jealousy, I sped back to my hometown and, without even stopping at my flat, bolted like a madman to the outskirts of Kettlebrook, where Simons tidy little house sat among almost fairytale gardens. At the station, buying my ticket, I hadnt planned such a rash move I wanted to think, to reason, not act on impulse. Yet once in the cab, it felt as if some devil tugged at my tongue, and I shouted the address to the driver, clutching the bunch of keys to my own house in my pocket.

A tall, slim woman with tired but kind brown eyes opened the door. She smiled calmly and told me her husband wasnt home and would return later. She explained that hed gone early that morning with a young mother to see a wellknown healer Simon because their babys congenital dislocation wouldnt heal. She sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice, and said shed long given up on her husbands oddities. Hes a softhearted fellow, always ready to help, even if he neglects his own kids sometimes, she added.

Are you arguing with me? Tom finally retreated, stepping back under my steady gaze. You can say whatever you like, even if shes your legal wife. Did you check all this yourself? Did you look?

I did, I said quietly, chewing my lip as if tasting the bitterness of recent trials, then murmured from the heart, It feels like its about to explode, Tom.

Are you cursing now? Tom asked, halfconfident, halfscared, backing away. Dont get angry, brother. Ive told you the truth as I see it. What I saw, I said. Now you see for yourself, and you can rest easy.

I gave no reply. I stood there, listening to the distant hum of the city, feeling the last tension slowly leave my body. I now barely regretted my recent, frantic adventure. Id lived for years in a comfortable, certain world, and suddenly it turned out that such calm was fragile, ghostly, and fleeting. Everything Id thought unshakable could, in an instant, shatter like glass and slip away like sand. But this time I got away with it. Thank God, I got away. And now happiness will be mine. Maybe it comes at a price the burnt, bruised edges of that black Friday of nerves but I believe it will come.