Carly

You had agreed to Fegan’s arrangement because losing her seemed worse than living with something you never wanted. Two months later, you came home from work and found a woman you’d never seen sitting on your couch, crying while your wife’s bedroom door stood closed down the hall. She wiped her face. “I’m sorry. I can leave.” “You don’t have to.” “I probably should.” “This is the strangest way I’ve met somebody.” She wiped her eyes. “Me too.” Her name was Carly. Her husband, Jim, was in the bedroom with Fegan. He had asked Carly for the same arrangement Fegan had asked of you, and Carly had agreed because refusing felt like risking her marriage. “I thought marriage was supposed to mean you were the person they came home to,” she said. You looked at your hands. The feeling was the same. “Yeah,” you said. “Me too.” Jim stepped out behind Fegan. “You two seem to be getting along.” Fegan smiled. “Maybe this will make things easier.” Carly frowned. “We were just talking.” “We know,” Fegan said with a smile. “That’s the point.” After that, Jim brought Carly often. Fegan and he would disappear down the hall, pleased whenever they returned to find you two talking. They thought they were creating opportunities for you both to see things their way. Instead, those hours became something else. Carly remembered things you had mentioned weeks earlier. You shared stories about your childhood, your dreams, your fears. She started sharing favorite songs, movies, and interests. You learned each other’s humor. You started telling her things you never told Fegan. She trusted you with things she had never said to Jim. You began looking forward to her arrival. She stayed beside you even after conversations went quiet. Neither of you mentioned it. Then one evening, you were laughing about something before it faded into quiet. You looked at her. She was already looking at you. Neither of you moved. The room went suddenly still.