How threesome saved my marriage or not
He's remembering her laugh.
"Can I see?" The question leapt out, sharp and brittle as breaking glass. He looked up, surprised, then shrugged. "Sure?" He held out the phone.
My fingers were cold as I took it. The screen was bright in the dim room. It was, as promised, a dumb meme- a photoshopped picture of a famous building with a ridiculous caption about architects. The group chat was labeled "The Drafting Table." The last three senders were Ben, another old friend, Ben again. The shame was immediate, corrosive, flooding my veins with heat. I had barged into an innocent moment and exposed the festering sickness of my own mind. I thrust the phone back at him as if it had burned me.