I almost run home from my walk, skipping into the offlicense to pick up a bottle of prosecco and a large bar of creamy chocolate. I am excited at the prospect of making my shitbag of a husband’s life a misery. At least for a little while.

I sit cross-legged on the sofa in my favorite fleece pajamas with Leah’s laptop balanced on my knees, a stomach full of chocolate, swigging prosecco from the bottle. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you what he replied when I asked him to tell me where he wanted to put it. It took him over half an hour to come back with: I want your lips on it.

On it. Not round it. On it. Jeez. I replied: Mmmmm… and then?

For the past hour I have watched the three tiny dots that denote he’s writing a reply flick on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. I can picture him sweating, wiping his palms down his golfing trousers, or whatever activity they were doing that afternoon. Type. Delete. The best he could come up with after an hour: I guess you’ll find out next week.

Might need to rearrange Monday. I take another swig as I hit send.

Work?

Something has come up.

That was a mistake. He sends me another picture of his dick. It is captioned: It sure has! This picture was obviously taken in the toilet of somewhere unsanitary. Do any girls ever find this sexy?

There’s just something I need to do, I reply.

That’s not me? I can hear the hard edge to his voice, the one he uses when he doesn’t get his own way.

It’s Megan. Advantage: me.

My Megan? Oh, so I’m your Megan now?

She’s my sister, Chris.

You didn’t mind before. It wasn’t that Leah didn’t mind that he was my husband, she liked that he was my husband. Chris obviously thinks he is just too irresistible. He doesn’t realize she was using him too.

I think she wants to make friends. This will get him. Despite all his insistence to me that I should reach out to Leah, he doesn’t really want me to. I know because every time I actually have hovered over her number, he will always find a way to talk me out of it and then by the next day my bravado is gone and I spend a few days berating myself for being a coward, before the cycle starts again. I realize he must think I never saw the picture of Leah on his phone. I bet he was disappointed that his plan hadn’t worked. Now I really want him to think I’m contacting Leah to finally make amends. To hammer home the point, I pop on to her Facebook and update her status to: Call from the blue #sisterlove. Twenty-five people like it within seconds. I open my own Facebook and post the exact same message. No one likes it.

Immediately my own phone beeps: Saw Facebook. You OK, Meggie?