"How many times?" My voice came out sharp. "Twice at the clinic that I know of."
She flinched like I’d slapped her. Nodded. "Once before, in… in my car. I was having a bad day, stopped for a drink, and I… I couldn’t drive back home like that, so Matt picked me up and we just… we just got to talking and…"
"And what? Gravity? You just fell on his dick?"
"No! God, no, it wasn't…" She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. "We've been texting. It just… thingswith Bryan have been so hard lately, and Matt was easy to talk to, and he understood, and?—"
"Things just happened?" I finished for her. My hands were shaking now, so I shoved them in my pockets. "Is that what you're going to tell me? That it just happened?"
"I didn't mean?—"
"Bullshit." The word exploded past my gritted teeth. "Things like this don't just happen, Angela. These are choices. You chose to text him, you chose to kiss him, you chose to…" I broke off as the image slammed into me: Angela arched over the exam table, Matt’s hands gripping her hips.
"I know!" She was sobbing now, mascara running down her cheeks. "I know, okay? I know it's fucked up, I know I'm…" She shook her head. "It’s just… I felt lonely, Matt felt lonely, and?—"
"Matt feels lonely?" I was moving closer without realizing it. "Are you actually fucking kidding me? "
She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her cardigan, nodded slightly. "He said… he said you've been distant. That you're always at work, and when you're home you're still thinking about the clinic, and?—"
"I've been working late becauseyoukeep dropping the fucking ball!" My voice cracked. "So let me get this right… While I was working late to cover for you, he was texting you? While I was fixing the shit you kept dropping, you two were playing Sad and Lonely together? While I was keeping the doors open, you were in the backseat of your car with my husband? That's the story?”
Angela's face crumpled. She sank down onto the couch, head in her hands.
"Things with Bryan have been really bad," she said quietly. "He's been on me about the drinking. Says I need to see someone, that I'm not myself lately. And he's right, I know he's right, but I didn't want to hear it from him. Matt just… Mattgotit. He listened without judging. And I know that's not an excuse, I know it doesn't make it okay, but?—"
"But nothing." My voice went flat, colder than I meant it to be. "This ain’t therapy, Angela. So don’t make this about your feelings, Bryan, or your fucking drinking." I stepped closer, jaw tight. “You don’t get to hide behind any of that.” Another beat. “You fucked my husband. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”
She looked up at me, mascara-streaked and broken.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispered.
I stared at her, this woman I'd trusted and worked beside for years. This woman who'd promised me partnership and friendship and had given me neither.
"I'm so sorry." Angela was crying harder now, words tumbling out between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I'm such a bitch, I know I am. I don't deserve you, I never did. I'm a terrible person, I know that, but please…" Her voice cracked. "Please don't tell Bryan. Please. It would destroy him, and I can't… I can't lose him too. Please."
The 'please' that hung in the air had nothing to do with me, our friendship, or what she'd done to my marriage. She just didn't want to get caught. Didn't want to face the consequences.
Whatever compassion I’d had left for her just… shut off. Gone. Like a light blinking out.
"Don't worry," I said quietly. "I'm not going to tell Bryan."
Relief flooded her face, and her shoulders sagged. "Thank you. God, thank you. I promise I'll?—"
"You are."
She blinked. "What?"
I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the flash drive, and held it up so she could see it.
"I got the videos here. Both times at the clinic, timestamped." I watched her face go white. "I’ll give you until tomorrow night to tell Bryan."
"No." She was shaking her head, standing up from the couch. "No, I can't… he'll leave me, I can't?—"
"You should have thought of that before you fucked my husband."
"Please, you don't understand?—"
"Don’t tell him and this goes in his inbox." I closed my fist around the flash drive. "Your choice, Angela. You tell him, or I do. But either way, he's going to know exactly what kind of woman he married."
