Been screwing my friend's wife for a couple years now and I'm starting to think I'm better at being her husband than he is. It started after his third promotion party, the one where he got so drunk he left her there. I drove her home, and in the car, she just broke down, talking about how he was never around, how he saw her as another one of his accomplishments. I comforted her. One thing led to another, and we ended up in my backseat.

Now, it's a routine. He texts me to go watch the game, and I know that's her signal that he's out of town for the night. I'll go over to their house—the one I helped him pick out—and I'll bring takeout. We'll eat at their dining room table, and she'll tell me about her day, and I'll actually listen. Then we'll go to their bed, and I'll fuck her with a kind of desperation that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with possession.

The sick part is, I've started doing his chores. I'll notice the garbage is full, so I'll take it out. I'll see the leaky faucet he's been "meaning to fix" for months, and I'll YouTube how to do it and fix it myself. Last week, I mowed their lawn while he was on a "business trip." I'm living out this bizarre, parasitic fantasy where I'm the good husband, the one who's present, the one who takes care of her. I'm screwing my friend's wife, and somehow, I've convinced myself I'm the hero of this story. And the worst part is, when I look at her, I think she might believe it too.