Hubby Cheats Across The Hall

My best friend was fighting a divorce case, so I had my lawyer husband help her out. She had nowhere else to stay, so I rented her our empty unit across the hall, cheap. On my wedding day, I pressed the bouquet into her arms. "May you find happiness again," I told her. The words would come back to haunt me like a curse. She started drifting through my kitchen every morning in a silk nightgown, and Alan Gordon would hand her a cup of warm milk. In the evenings, he'd come out of her apartment with his shirt half unbuttoned, still carrying the warmth of a home-cooked meal. The lady neighbor upstairs grabbed my arm. "Aren't you going to do something about this?" I forced a smile. "He's just helping her with the case." Then I saw Lyndis's post on Instagram: [This house is missing a man.] The photo showed a pair of men's slippers, tags still on. Same brand, same size as the pair sitting in our own entryway. That night I tossed and turned while Alan took his pillow and went to sleep in the study. At two in the morning, I heard the lock turn. Through the peephole, I watched her door swing shut, warm light spilling out from underneath it. I stood barefoot on the cold floor and thought back to my wedding day, to the moment I'd handed her that bouquet. Alan's eyes had been on her fingers as she took it from me. So she really had found her happiness… during my wedding, in my house, with my husband.