Kim: You can have me for lunch

April 5, 8:52 p.m.

Phil: I’ll be at your place at 7:30 tomorrow morning. First meeting isn’t until 10 a.m.

Kim: I’ll be in bed. Let yourself in and wake me up with your tongue.

The texts blurred together as Lina read about one clandestine meeting after another, sometimes two on the same day. There were twenty-four texts in all, and in each one Phil was the pursuer. Tears began to fall from her eyes. She didn’t know how long she lay in her bed, but when Phil came into the room some time later, she was no longer crying.

“What are you doing in bed?” His shoes clicked against the hardwood floor as he walked towards his wardrobe. “Are you sick?”

Lina rolled onto her side, curling into the fetal position before closing her eyes and turning her face into her pillow. She heard him cross to the bed, and then the mattress was shifting as he sat down beside her. “Are you okay?” He ran his hand over her back.

“No, I’m not okay.” Her voice was muffled by the pillow.

“What’s wrong? Lina?” He gripped her shoulder, attempting to turn her over, but she shrugged off his hand.

“Don’t touch me!”

He came to his feet, looking around the room before crossing to her dresser and picking up her purse. “Tell me what she did.” He began to riffle through her purse. “Tell me!”

“Look at my phone,” she said. “Just look at my phone.”

She heard the sound of her cell phone sliding over the wood of the dresser and then silence. After several seconds she turned over and watched as he flicked his thumb over her phone display, his lips pulled into a thin line, the side of his jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes shifted back and forth over the display as he read the texts. When he finished, he clicked the side of the phone, darkening the display.

“You pretended to leave for New York on Sunday nights so you could spend the night with her. You were sleeping in another woman’s bed thirty minutes away while I was alone in this one.”

“What’s the difference, Lina? Whether I was with her here or in New York?”

“There’s a difference. You know I can’t sleep alone! I’m suffering, and you’re down the road fucking someone”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know you left the house early so you could go to her apartment before work.” She pushed herself up on her elbows as she glared at him. “Where are you going with my phone?” she cried out. “Give me my phone back.”

“I’ll give it back after I delete the messages,” he said over his shoulder.

“You’re not deleting them. They’re my messages.” She followed him into his wardrobe and held her hand out. “Give me my phone.”