This is the third day I haven’t gone in to work. When I look at my phone, bright and early, I laugh. “We’ve been waiting on you for days, Erica. Don’t bother coming in. We’ll find a replacement,” my boss texts me.

I knew it was heading that direction. That job was the best job I’ve ever had. I thought I’d die doing that job. Now, I don’t have anything. Oddly enough, I don’t feel bad about it. I feel absolutely young again. I feel free.

I head to the bedroom to see if Darrin is still home. He’s nowhere to be found, but his work briefcase is still on the bed, as if it was an aside to his day. I begin the final ascent. I start packing my things, first going through all of the necessities. My clothes, any toiletries I need, some old keepsakes. The hard part will be differentiating things we bought together. Fuck it, he can have it all. I don’t care.

When I’m finished, the house is much emptier. I take a look around me and start to feel nostalgic. This house was a dream when we first bought it. Darrin is right in a way. He did shell out a lot of money for this place, even though I begged him to let me pay when I got a chance. He always loved holding that over my head.

In the bedroom is his briefcase, still on the bed. Every time I turn to grab something, I see it. I don’t know what it is, but something tempts me to open it. I’m not famous for invading anyone’s privacy, but Darrin’s been my husband for years now. It’s not like him to miss a day of work. In fact, I’m almost positive he’s never taken a day off in his life.

So I open the damn briefcase. Of course it’s wrong of me, but it’s a compulsion I jump headfirst into. I click the numbers in place, I press the metal down, and it opens with a slight spring. I half expect to see solid gold inside, but instead see something akin to that in the male world.

Inside are women’s panties. Not just one. Not just two. But three pairs. Tucked away in the center of one pair is a note with a kiss mark pressed against the paper. “That bastard,” I whisper.

I grab the note and read it with ferocity. “Last night was the best night of my life. I love it when you tie me up, daddy,” it reads. “Love, Natasha.”

“Natasha!” I blurt out. “Is he fucking kidding me? He’s fucking his secretary?”

After all these years, after all we’ve been through, he ends up being an old, washed up story. Constantly dissatisfied with his life, he’s the guy who forces himself to crash and burn at every corner of his life. Needless to say, I’m livid.

I dig through his files, I look through every pocket in his stupid briefcase. I find exactly what I’m looking for. Underneath the reports, folded clandestinely, there is Walker’s card. The Boyfriend Experience.

“So, you found it,” I laugh.

He should have gone to greater lengths to destroy this thing. As I hold it in front of me, my legs tremble. I imagine his deep accent and the way his hands felt around my waist. I remember how choked up he made me and how fast my heart was beating. It was so wrong of him to follow me in the women’s bathroom like that. But when he locked the door, I couldn’t help but want him to take me right then and there.

I call him. I just have to do it. I’m full of urges today and I feel like a naughty girl. The phone rings at least five times until I hear his breath in the receiver. “Walker,” he says.

I don’t say anything. I’m too fucking choked up. What does a married woman say to a man like that? No, this just isn’t right. This isn’t how I want it to go. “Hello?” he asks, confused. My breath comes out sharp and quick.

“Is that you?” he asks.

I hang up the phone and throw it across the room. It lands flat on its face and I watch as it starts vibrating again. He’s calling me back. “Oh, god!” I yell.

I hear footsteps in the house. “What is it?” Darrin is standing in front of the doorway. His eyes dart from me to my phone, back and forth in quick bursts.

“What are you doing home?” I blurt out. But before he even has time to respond, I look back at the panties that are now strewn across the bed. “Natasha? Your secretary? Come on, Darrin.”

“I was going to tell you,” he sighs, turning dark red.

“Tell me what? That this is the fourth time you’ve done this? Get a grip. You’re losing it,” I say. “Seriously, you’re so far from the man I fell in love with.”

“And the boyfriend experience man? What’s his name? Walker?” He walks forward. “What about him? Is that who you went out with the other night?”

“I went to Jackie Faadon’s birthday party with Renata, you jerk. That’s the guy who crashed into your fucking bumper,” I say, collecting my things.

“Don’t you dare leave right now,” he says, blocking my only path outside.

“Darrin, get out of my way. Now,” I say, breathing heavy, but remaining as calm as I can.

“There’s something else I should tell you,” he says the words quickly, before I can run away from him.

“Oh yeah? What in the world could it possibly be?” I ask him. I’m beyond frustrated at this point. All I want to do is find a motel somewhere and sleep the day away.

“I’m leaving you,” he says with an air of confidence that makes me nauseous. “Me and Natasha… we’re running away together. I’m selling the house. Now, don’t cry. This is the natural progression of things, isn’t it? We’ll split everything 50/50.”

I’m so stunned that I actually start laughing. I laugh so hard that I have to fall to the floor to stop myself.

“What’s so damn funny?” he asks me. “Are you that heartless? Don’t you care about me at all?”

“No! I don’t. Not anymore,” I say. “Honestly, I can’t believe any of this is real. I have to leave.”

So, he won his little game. He knew it was over, so he made a rash decision. He decided to run off with the secretary. Now, they’ll buy a house together. They’ll feel so good about their “love” that they’ll have a baby or two. Barf. The whole thing makes me sick.

I push past him, carrying my two suitcases. “Let me help you with those,” he says, feigning hospitality.

“Don’t touch me, you perv,” I hiss at him, already halfway into the hall. Of course, right when I reach the step down to the front entranceway, I trip, nearly landing face first against the marble tile.

He helps me up, asking if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I say, feeling the tears attempt to flood down from my eyes. I hold my breath. My damn shin hurts so bad. My elbows are all scuffed up. Worst of all, I feel so stupid and embarrassed. I am not okay. I’m anything but okay. My husband has cheated on me with four different women. He’s called me a bitch. He’s thrown things at me. And now, as I try to leave with some ounce of grace, he watches as I trip. It’s the worst way to go out and I’m honestly hating myself for it right now.

“Wait!” he yells at me, once I’m back on my feet. “You forgot this.”

Great. What does he have for me now? In his hand is Walker’s card. I don’t need it. His phone number is on already locked in my phone. I give a harsh groan and don’t even respond. I get into the car and pull out. The bumper, which I had tried to tape together the other day, comes undone. It falls against the cement and scrapes loudly as I pull out.

I swear, when I leave, he’s smiling to himself. I look like a fool, while he looks like he could take on the world. It’s not always about appearances, but I have no shred of dignity left.

I’m left with the knowing that I’ll always have myself to rely on. It’s not the most comforting of realizations, although there’s something to it. I’m also left with one voicemail. I turn on my bluetooth and drive toward a motel in the near distance.

“I haven’t any clue whether or not this is you,” he says. “But if this is the woman I’m thinking of, call me.”