I Abandoned My Wife For 7 Months — But When I Came Home, She Was Dining With My Biggest Rival
Part 2
My wife, Megan, sat at the corner of the long table with her left hand resting lightly on the stem of her wine glass.
Her right hand laid perfectly flat on the linen beside her plate, taking the attitude of a woman who has just finished saying a brilliant sentence and is waiting with absolute composure for the response.
Brian sat at her right side, half turned toward her, leaning one elbow on the table in a posture that in any other man I would have called overly familiar.
In Brian, that relaxed posture merely looked carefully considered and deeply respectful.
They had obviously heard my car pull into the gravel driveway minutes ago.
They had definitely heard the heavy front door open, and perhaps even my hushed conversation with the housekeeper in the hallway.
They had utilized the full minute I spent standing in my own foyer deciding which kind of fool to be, using that time to perfectly compose their expressions.
Megan said my name aloud, speaking it exactly the way she addressed minor guests at her own table, offering a small civil warmth at the front and a perfectly maintained neutrality behind it.
She noted calmly that I was finally home.
I inclined my head stiffly, confirming that I was indeed present.
Brian rose from his chair without any frantic haste, moving around the corner of the table with one hand extended in greeting.
He smiled easily, remarking casually that I had caught them just as they were finishing their soup.
The soup course had clearly been cleared away a long time ago.
There was a small remnant of roasted pheasant on Megan’s plate, sitting next to a careful arrangement of poached pears.
The heavy crystal decanter placed securely between them was more than three-quarters empty.
The tall candles had burned down by the breadth of a thumb, proving they had been sitting together for hours.
I took his offered hand, feeling in his dry, easy grip the small, infuriating warmth of a man who is not at all sorry to be found exactly where he is.
I pointed out quietly that he was sitting very far away from his own dinner table tonight.
Brian smiled again, offering the vague explanation that he was simply passing through the neighborhood.
He completely avoided mentioning what he had been passing toward or traveling from, and Megan certainly did not volunteer the missing information.
She simply lifted the small silver bell at her elbow, ringing it once lightly.
A young footman appeared at the inner door before the pure note had quite died away in the quiet room.
Megan instructed him to bring a place setting for me, requesting my preferred wine and checking if there was any warm bread left in the kitchen.
The servant bowed low and vanished without a sound.
She had not bothered to ask whether I actually intended to sit down and join them.
She had not inquired whether I was hungry after my long drive.
She had simply assumed my presence and ordered for me, handling the situation with the exact same untroubled smoothness she used to command boardroom meetings.
I crossed the room to take the empty chair at her left side, feeling strangely grateful to her for taking control, though that gratitude deeply irritated my pride.
I looked across the table at the wife I had abandoned, realizing I had no idea who she was anymore—but was it too late to find out?
