As I was freshening up in the bathroom, my eyes caught a glimpse of something unsettling in the trash can: a pair of black lace panties that screamed seduction. Resting on them was a used condom, its contents a telling milky white.
I stood frozen in place, petrified.
John Smith and I had not been intimate in over a year, and I was too reserved to wear something as skimpy as that.
The only explanation was that John had enjoyed some company while I was out at a friend’s place yesterday.
I reached for my phone, intent on confronting him, but his latest Messenger text stopped me in my tracks.
[I’m swamped. Can you handle things yourself today?]
Why today, out of all days? It was the anniversary of my mom’s passing.
John used to join me for the memorial prayers.
I had even double-checked with him in the morning before he headed to work, and he said he would be there.
Now, he was bailing.
What could have been so important?
