For the last two years of my marriage, my wife was not the most faithful person in the world. I knew, but I didn’t know, if you know what I mean. I had my suspicions for a long time, but I never really had any evidence that I could point to. I worked the night shift, so there was no way for me to know how late she was staying out or even where she spent the night.

I suppose I could have said something to her, but I never was one for confrontations. It wasn’t one of those things where I would sit at home and think sexy thoughts about her extracurricular activities, either. We never talked about it, or shared fantasies. Come to think of it, we never really talked all that much after I got transferred onto the night shift.

Some of the people I worked with made their marriages work when they only saw their spouses for a few hours a week and communicated mostly through notes and voicemail, but I was never that good at leaving notes. Neither was my wife, to be honest.

Evidence started appearing. An empty condom wrapper on the floor. Bright red marks on her ass from where she had obviously been spanked. One morning, I was giving her head and I noticed that her pubic hair had been shaved except for a few strips of hair that had been left to spell the word “SLUT.” In retrospect, I should have taken that as a sign.

And then, one day, she was gone. It didn’t seem like she’d left me, because her clothes were still in the closets. Still, she wasn’t there. That was three months ago. From time to time I wonder if she just decided that it wasn’t worth the bother of collecting everything before she left or if one of her adventures just went awry. Honestly, though, I really don’t care anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever did.