My Germaphobe Wife's Dirty Affair

My wife, Evelyn Shaw, is a germaphobe. She makes us sleep in separate rooms, and even our laundry has to be done separately. She also throws out any dishes or utensils I use, claiming they're filthy. On our wedding anniversary, I find a man's tie and a half-smoked cigarette in her spotless car. When I confront her, she casually smooths her hair without even looking at me. "It belongs to a coworker I gave a ride to. He accidentally left it behind." I don't say a word. One call to Claire Bennett, her company's biggest rival, tells me everything I need to know. She recently hired a young male assistant, Adrian Holt. Claire laughs. "Your ice queen is in the break room feeding the guy cake right now. Last I heard, she couldn't keep her hands off him." I hang up and throw my anniversary gift into the trash. Evelyn Shaw, we're done. Chapter 1 The diamond earrings at the bottom of the trash can caught the overhead light. My wife, Evelyn Shaw, had spent three months searching for that limited-edition pair. Now they lay buried beneath apple peels and crumpled tissues. I stared at them for a long time. The front door unlocked. Evelyn was home. The sharp smell of disinfectant immediately filled the villa, completely overpowering the faint lemon fragrance. I got to my feet and walked over, reaching for her handbag. My fingers had barely touched the strap when Evelyn jerked away. She stumbled backward, slamming into the entryway cabinet with a loud thud. Her gaze locked onto my hand. Her brows knit together, her lips curling in disgust. "Go wash your hands," she said, her voice flat and cold. My hand hung awkwardly in the air, my fingers trembling. Beneath the strong smell of disinfectant, another scent lingered—a faint trace of cigarette smoke mixed with cheap cologne. Evelyn never smoked, and she hated strong fragrance. I pulled my hand back and gripped the hem of my shirt. "Today's our wedding anniversary," I said quietly. Evelyn didn't even look at me. She tossed her bag onto the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom, as if she couldn't get away from me fast enough. "Work's been hectic," she said. "Stop making such a big deal out of things like this." Before shutting the bathroom door, she glanced around the living room. "Did you turn on the air purifier? Why does it smell like someone's been cooking in here?" I looked toward the kitchen. The stove was cold to the touch. I hadn't cooked anything. Water began running behind the bathroom door. Her showers always took 40 minutes. She'd go through half a bottle of body wash each time, scrubbing every inch of her skin until it was raw and red. My gaze landed on the jacket she'd carelessly tossed over the arm of the couch. There was a time I wasn't even allowed to touch her clothes. If I so much as brushed against one, she'd fly into a rage, insisting I'd gotten it dirty, then cut it to pieces and throw it away. That faint cologne still clung to her suit jacket. My stomach tightened as I walked over and slipped my hand into the pocket. My fingers brushed against a thin sheet of paper. I pulled it out. It was an ultrasound report. "Name: Evelyn Shaw Gestational Age: Six Weeks" The report was dated this afternoon. Six weeks. Six weeks ago, I had a bad cold and couldn't stop coughing. Afraid I'd pass it to her, Evelyn made me sleep in the guest room for a month. She even had the master bedroom wiped down with alcohol every day. And even after that, we didn't share a bed for another month. I clenched the paper until my knuckles turned white. She was pregnant, and the baby wasn't mine. The water turned off. Evelyn came out in a bathrobe, meticulously wiping each finger with an alcohol wipe. She saw the report in my hand but didn't look the least bit flustered. She dropped the used wipe in the trash and walked over. Pinching one corner of the report between two fingers, she pulled it from my hand, making sure not to touch my skin. "Since you've already seen it," she said evenly, "that saves me the trouble of telling you." She folded the report, set it on the coffee table, then took out another wipe to clean her fingers. "Adrian Holt isn't like you. He's full of life." I stared. "Full of life?" I whispered. I'd spent years catering to every one of her germaphobic obsessions—three showers a day, a house scrubbed spotless, every movement measured, and every breath restrained. "Know your place, Ryan Brooks, and you'll remain my husband." She gave me a slow once-over, the same way someone might appraise a porcelain vase. "You're clean, presentable, and you look the part," Evelyn said matter-of-factly. "Adrian… isn't husband material. But he's exactly my type." She turned and walked into the study. The door closed, and the lock clicked into place. I stood there, my blood running cold. So all the effort I'd put into indulging her obsession was just part of the image she wanted the world to see. Chapter 2 The next morning, I walked into Shaw Group carrying a folder of documents. The documents were just an excuse. I wanted to see for myself what a man "full of life" looked like. Ashley Grant, Evelyn's secretary, stopped me outside the CEO's office. She handed me shoe covers, a face mask, and disposable gloves. "You know the rules, Mr. Brooks," she said apologetically. Those were Evelyn's rules for me. I wasn't allowed anywhere near her until I'd gone through the entire routine. I put on the protective gear and walked through three disinfectant stations. A blast of cold mist hit my face, carrying the sharp smell of disinfectant. I paused outside Evelyn's office. The blinds were open just enough for me to see inside. Evelyn was sitting comfortably on a young man's lap. He wore a tight black T-shirt, and his bleached blond hair was impossible to miss. He had a greasy fried chicken drumstick in his hand. Laughing, he lifted the drumstick to Evelyn's lips. A drop of grease landed on her expensive, custom-made blouse. The stain spread instantly. She loved that blouse. I'd seen her lose her temper over just a wrinkle before. But this time, she didn't even seem to notice. She took a bite, then wrapped her lips around his greasy fingers, looking up at him affectionately. I'd never seen her look at anyone like that before. "Good?" he teased, his voice dripping with sweetness. She smiled. "Everything tastes better when you feed me." My stomach turned. I thought I might be sick. Once, I spilled some fruit juice on the floor by accident. She made me kneel and scrub every inch for three hours until the marble shone. She said even a tiny spill was unsanitary. Now she didn't seem to mind another man's saliva or the grease still clinging to her lips. So this was what she meant by "full of life". I saw red. I threw the office door open. It slammed into the wall with a loud bang. Adrian Holt, Evelyn's lover, flinched. The drumstick slipped from his hand and landed on Evelyn's suit pants. "Oh!" He rushed to wipe it off, only to smear greasy fingerprints across her pants. "That scared me," he whined. Evelyn looked up. Her smile disappeared as soon as she saw me. She made no move to get off Adrian's lap. "Who let you in?" she snapped. "Do you know how many germs you're carrying? How dare you come in here without disinfecting yourself?" I pointed at the man behind her, my hands trembling. "What about him?" I countered. "He's covered in grease. Isn't he filthy too?" Adrian cocked an eyebrow at me. "Mr. Brooks, please don't blame Ms. Shaw. I insisted on feeding her. She says she loves how full of life I am." Evelyn leaned closer to him and glared at me. "Ryan Brooks, just look at yourself. Mask. Shoe covers. Gloves. You look like a walking biohazard! Adrian didn't mean anything by it. You, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were doing." She pointed to the door. "Get out. Don't come back until you've disinfected yourself. You're disgusting!" A crowd of employees had gathered outside the room. Whispers broke out all around me. Apparently, I was the filthy one here—not the man with greasy hands whose lap she was sitting on. I tore off my mask and threw it on the floor. "You'll regret this, Evelyn." She let out a cold laugh. "Me? Regret this? For marrying a lifeless bore like you?" I turned and walked out, their mocking laughter followed me down the hall. Chapter 3 At 9:00 pm, Evelyn texted me. "Working late. Don't wait up." I pulled up the location-tracking app on my phone. Evelyn had made me install it so she could keep tabs on me, but she seemed to forget that it worked both ways. The app showed her at a food stall on the west side of town. The place was notorious for its terrible hygiene. The floors were slick with grease, and rats scurried under the tables. Whenever we drove by a place like that, Evelyn would roll up the windows, put on a mask, and have the car cleaned as soon as we got home. So this was her idea of working late. I threw on a black hoodie and took a cab over. The food stall was packed. The air was thick with the stench of cheap barbecue, stale grease, and sweat. I spotted Evelyn right away. She was sitting on a red plastic stool, still in her grease-stained blouse from earlier with her sleeves rolled up. Adrian sat across from her, one foot propped on his chair, laughing as they played a drinking game. "Bottoms up! Ha, I win!" He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke right into Evelyn's face. She didn't even flinch. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him. Their kiss must have tasted like cigarette smoke, beer, and garlic. I stood a few yards away, paralyzed. My stomach churned. Was this the same woman who couldn't stand a single speck of dust? The woman who was obsessed with cleanliness? It turned out filth was never the problem. I was. Something snapped inside me. I stormed over, grabbed a beer bottle, and smashed it against the table. The glass shattered, and foam sprayed everywhere. Then I flipped the entire table. Skewers, beer, and hot soup spilled onto Adrian. He screamed as the soup soaked him from head to toe. "Evelyn! Ryan's gone crazy! He's trying to kill me!" Adrian yelled. Evelyn shot to her feet and shoved me hard. "Ryan Brooks! What the hell is wrong with you?" The force knocked me off balance, sending me crashing onto the grimy pavement and into a pile of broken glass. Sharp shards sliced into my palm, and blood seeped into the muddy water beneath me. I barely registered the pain. I held up my bleeding hand and glared at Evelyn. "So this is what you call being clean?" I spat. "You wouldn't even touch a fork I'd used. Even my breath disgusted you. Yet you'll kiss him and breathe in his secondhand smoke? Doesn't that disgust you?" She looked down at me without a trace of guilt. "Just look at yourself, Ryan. You're covered in filth. You make me sick!" Then she turned to Adrian and checked him over. "Are you okay, Adrian? Does it hurt anywhere?" Adrian clung to her, pretending to tremble. Then, over her shoulder, he looked straight at me and smirked. "Evelyn… Ryan scared me. My head hurts…" The color drained from Evelyn's face. She helped him up and led him away. Before she left, she shot me one last look of disgust. "Don't follow us. You'll dirty my car." By now, a crowd had formed around us. Several people already had their phones out, recording everything. I sat there in the muddy puddle, blood dripping from my hand. Chapter 4 Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through my stomach. My ulcer? Panic gripped me. I had been living with a severe stomach ulcer for years. The doctor warned me it would never fully heal without proper care. Yet for Evelyn's sake, I had avoided hospitals altogether, terrified I'd bring germs home. Now, I was finally paying the price. Maybe this was the end for me. My fingers shook as I grabbed my phone. I didn't hesitate. It was pure instinct. I called Evelyn. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Finally, she answered. Her soft and gentle voice came through the speaker. "Don't worry, babe. The doctor's almost here." "Evelyn…" I wheezed. "Please… help me. I need a hospital…" Silence stretched across the line. Then Evelyn snapped, her voice cold and impatient, "Ryan, how much longer are you going to keep this up? Are you really that desperate for attention? Adrian got splashed with hot soup, and he's not even making this much of a fuss! You're perfectly fine. Stop faking it!" The line went dead. A second later, a text message popped up on my screen. "Stop bothering me. I'm not coming home tonight." The phone slipped from my hand and fell into the murky water by the curb. My vision began to blur. The last thing I saw was the horror etched across the bystanders' faces. … When I came to, the harsh surgical lights blurred above me. The surgery was over. A doctor stood next to me, his expression grim. "You got here too late," he said. "Your stomach ulcer perforated, causing intensive internal bleeding. You'd lost too much blood. We had no choice but to remove part of your stomach to save your life." After a brief pause, he added, "Your body will be much weaker from now on. It's going to be a long road to recovery." The anesthesia still hadn't worn off completely as I was wheeled to my hospital room. Lying in my bed, I reached for my phone. Adrian had updated his social media ten minutes ago. It was a photo of Evelyn kissing his collarbone. They were in the hospital's VIP room. The caption read, "Ms. Shaw's so naughty. She insisted we do it right here. Good thing the bed's big enough." So while I was fighting for my life… she was busy fooling around with her boy toy. I yanked out the IV from the back of my hand. Blood trickled down my wrist, but the pain barely registered. I scrolled down my contacts. My thumb hovered over a name I hadn't thought about in years—Claire Bennett. She was Evelyn's sworn rival, and the woman I'd once turned down because I didn't want Evelyn getting the wrong idea. If this were what Evelyn wanted, I'd make sure she got her fill of it. I tapped the screen. Claire answered on the first ring. "Ryan?" Disbelief filled her voice. My throat was dry, but I had never felt so determined. "Ms. Bennett," I said. "I'll give you the private ledger Evelyn keeps locked in her safe." That ledger was the one thing she couldn't afford to lose. Evelyn never bothered to hide anything from me. To her, I was nothing more than a husband who cooked and cleaned. "But I have one condition," I said. "Name it," Claire replied, her voice turning serious. "I want Evelyn to lose everything. I want her on her knees… begging me for mercy." A low laugh came through the phone. "Deal," Claire said. "I'll be waiting for you, Ryan."