My Husband's "Assistant"

Matthew's new assistant? She called him 'Matt.' Not Mr. Langford.

They were on cozy terms. He fixed her leaky rental, hauled in her oversized water jugs, even helped clean up her data messes.

And then it escalated.

A pregnancy test popped up on his phone. Right next to a photo of them together.

He was smiling—soft, tender, like he actually cared.

Then I saw the kicker: a chat with his buddy where he said, [Peyton's great and all, but eating the same thing every day... it gets old.]

***

My fingerprint was saved on his phone, but hey—six years of trust kept me from ever actually using it. I mean, I thought he was loyal. Maybe even too awkward to pull off cheating.

But that night, curiosity won. I tapped in.

Boom. Pandora's freaking box. My heart just detonated.

Viv. That was her name in his contacts. Her profile pic? Full-on cute-girl-next-door vibes—big eyes, baby face, the whole package. Totally his type.

My chest tightened as I scrolled. All the way back to message one—six months ago.

[Mr. Langford, hello! I'm the new intern and your assistant going forward! Please take care of me.]

He'd been cold then. Just shot back a [Mm.]

But Viv? Oh, she was relentless. Constant updates like:

[We're working on a game project—you've gotta keep up with the youth! Look, here's me at an anime expo.]

[That takeout place sucked. Avoid it!]

[This song is everything! You have to hear it!]

She even brought me up:

[Mrs. Langford is so pretty and gentle. Mr. Langford, you're really lucky!]

Yeah. That's what cracked him open. Compliment me once, and suddenly she's getting full sentences.

Polite turned into flirty. Cold turned into clingy.

On a business trip to Jaspan, he brought her along. Their rooms were only a wall apart, but they still made sure to say goodnight. Every. Single. Night.

It became their thing.

Anytime a project wrapped, he'd take her out to celebrate—solo. No team. No awkward "should we invite anyone else?" Just them.

Then there was Hawthorne Bay. He struggled to find the purse I wanted—struggled—but somehow still had the brain space to grab her favorite toner.

[I didn't know which one you used. Finding the counter was a pain, so I just bought them all. Pick your fave.]

[Wow! Mr. Langford, you're the best!]

He brought back gifts—for me and for her. No one else. Not even his mom. She asked for a scarf and he hit her with:

[Mom, come on. My schedule was insane. It was too much trouble.]

He did get his mom a pricey custom scarf later—but it didn't hit the same.

Meanwhile, helping Viv with her busted apartment? Lugging her giant water jugs? Fixing her disaster spreadsheets?

No problem.

She'd microwave lunch for him, bring fruit for the office, tag along to every work event.

Then one night, after a few drinks, she dropped a message she'd never say out loud:

[Mr. Langford, you're like a brother to me. Can I call you 'Matt' from now on?]

A "brother." Right.

By the time I hit that last message, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I could barely breathe. It felt like I'd been sucker-punched.

I put the phone back on the nightstand and just laid there, staring at the ceiling till morning.