'Lying beside my sleeping husband, I decide' by Barbara Ristine

I want to be the adulterer this time, slipping into secret hotels. I will wait for my lover clad only in the ermine coat my husband bought in apology.

When my lover comes, we will pretend this isn't what it is. Our conversation will meander through the thickets of our lives, searching for topics that don't remind us there are others waiting at home.

We'll slide between cool white sheets, my body melding with the curve of my lover's back, the dip of his stomach. He'll run his fingers over my skin, tracing the crooked scar across my abdomen. I'll pull his hand away and push it towards a deeper scar that I can't bear, one that I hide even from myself.

 Later when my lover sleeps beside me, I'll watch his chest rise and fall with each easy breath. I will text my husband, train's running late, and then slip away before the sun sets.