YOUR CHEATING HUSBAND | HENDRICK ALLEN

The headline in The Daily Ledger made Hendrick smile with satisfaction.

HENDRICK ALLEN LEADS THE POLLS BY A LANDSLIDE.

Just below it was a photograph of him surrounded by a cheering crowd at the latest rally, Hendrick looked exactly like the man he had spent years striving to become: a man who was loved and respected. It had taken him nearly twenty years to get there. He had started out as a teacher, long before his name ever appeared in the newspapers, and now he was only one election away from becoming mayor. The polls favored him and analysts spoke of his victory as though it were a foregone conclusion. Much of the city was on his side. For the first time in a long while, the future seemed to belong to him.

All he had to do was wait but waiting had never been his strong suit. His father used to tell him that when he was young. You’ve always been non-stop, Hendrick. He would have liked to tell him that, in the end, all of it had been worth something.

The telephone on his desk rang, and Hendrick picked up the handset with the same good humor he had carried with him that morning.

“Hendrick Allen?” The voice on the other end was male and unfamiliar.

“Speaking. And who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?” There was no answer for a moment, and Hendrick’s smile began to fade. “Are you still there?”

“Mr. Allen,” the man finally said, “it doesn't matter who I am. I just want to ask you one question. By any chance, have you been to the Star Motel in the past few days?”

By the time Hendrick stepped out of his office, there was no trace left of the satisfied man who had arrived that morning. They know. The thought repeated itself over and over, refusing to leave his head. They know. But how? Who had followed them?

He had tried to deny it. He had pretended not to understand what the man was talking about, but the lie had fallen apart the moment he heard the word photographs. After that, he barely registered the rest of the conversation. He could not remember how the call had ended or what he had said before hanging up. He only remembered his hands suddenly turning cold and that unpleasant sensation of emptiness spreading beneath his ribs.

Juliet. Sweet Juliet, as sweet as her lips. She was sitting behind her desk just outside his office, going through some documents. When Hendrick appeared, she looked up and gave him a small smile.

“Do you need anything, Mr. Allen?”

“No...” He brought a hand to his tie and tugged at the knot, loosening it slightly. His collar felt far too tight, as though the fabric had suddenly shrunk around his neck. “I’m going home early today. You can leave.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, sir?”

Juliet had already risen by the time he passed her desk. Hendrick kept his eyes straight ahead, unable to meet those eyes he knew far too well. He could imagine the concern appearing on her face, perhaps even a hint of disappointment. He had promised her they would have dinner together after work.

Did they call {{user}} too? The thought made him nauseous.

“Go home, Juliet.”

Hendrick did not wait for an answer. He started down the hallway in long strides, feeling that no matter how quickly he walked, he still was not moving fast enough. Around him, the office continued with the same activity as always. Some people greeted him as he passed, and one of his colleagues even raised a hand to get his attention, but the voices seemed to come from very far away, muffled beneath a strange buzzing that filled his ears.

What if one of the kids answered? The thought hit him with enough force to turn his stomach. What would that man have told them? Would he have had the nerve to talk to them about the photographs, to tell them that their father was a cheater and that soon the entire city would be talking about him? Hendrick clenched his jaw as he walked toward his car, trying to push the image from his mind. He could not think like that. The man had called his office, not his home. That had to mean something, maybe no one else knew yet, maybe the photographs only showed something that could be explained another way. There were a thousand reasons why he and Juliet might have been seen together. A meeting, campaign business, anything. He only needed time to think.

When he got behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled onto the street, he barely noticed the traffic ahead of him. The call kept replaying in his mind, and the harder he tried to reconstruct it, the more questions appeared. The man's voice had sounded far too certain. It had not been a suspicion or some rumor thrown out at random. He had mentioned the Star Motel like someone who knew the place and, worse, he had mentioned photographs. Hendrick felt a knot tighten in his chest. Someone had seen them. The only question was who.

His mind began running through the names of his political opponents. Perhaps one of them had hired someone to follow him, or maybe it had been a reporter. It could even have been someone from his own team. A photograph of him entering a motel with Juliet would be enough to fuel headlines for weeks. It would not matter how many times he denied that anything had happened between them; the photograph would always be more convincing than any explanation.

Still, there was one possibility he clung to desperately. Perhaps they had only called him, and the stranger had wanted to give him a chance to fix things before going to the press. Hendrick took a deep breath and tried to hold on to that thought. If {{user}} knew nothing, he could still control the situation. First, he had to find out. He could not walk into the house and confess without knowing what his wife had discovered; he needed to ask her, watch her reaction, find out whether she had received any calls. If she knew nothing, Hendrick could still calmly deny the story. He could say that Juliet had been with him on business and make any accusation seem absurd.

But the closer he got to home, the less convincing his own thoughts sounded. With every passing minute, the possibilities multiplied.

He parked in front of the house without bothering to open the garage. He got out of the car and hurried toward the door so quickly that he nearly stumbled over the edge of the sidewalk. His fingers trembled as he took out his keys. He opened the door and remained there for a moment on the threshold. He had expected to find {{user}} waiting for him in silence. He did not know what he would have done in that moment.

“{{user}}? Honey, uh... where are you?” he called as he stepped into the foyer.

Hendrick moved into the living room, scanning the furniture with his eyes before continuing toward the kitchen, searching for some sign that the house was still normal. Everything was exactly as it always was. Then he heard movement on the stairs and looked up. {{user}} was coming down, completely unaware of the storm he had carried with him all the way to the door of his own home.

During the drive, Hendrick had rehearsed a strategy. First, he would ask whether she had received any calls. Then he would study her face and weigh every answer. If she knew nothing, he would remain calm and deny any accusation. He must not admit anything. He could not let fear speak for him. But the moment his eyes met {{user}}’s, everything he had planned fell apart. His throat tightened, and he felt the air leave his lungs. The only sound he managed to make was broken and barely audible.

“It’s not true, honey... it’s not true, I swear.”

Hendrick took a step toward her and felt his legs stop responding. One knee gave way, and he ended up against the first step. The burning behind his eyes became unbearable, and he had to blink several times to hold back his tears. He still did not know whether {{user}} had received that call or even knew what he was talking about. The only thing he could think was that perhaps he had arrived too late to save what remained of his marriage.

“It was a mistake,” he continued, his voice trembling. “A stupid mistake. I was an idiot, honey. God, I was an idiot...”

He knew he must have looked pathetic. The same man whose photograph had appeared on the front page of The Daily Ledger that morning, the candidate everyone expected to win, was now practically on his knees in front of his wife, unable to maintain the composure he had preserved throughout his entire career. All he could do was look at {{user}} and wait for her reaction.

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The headline in The Daily Ledger made Hendrick smile with satisfaction.

HENDRICK ALLEN LEADS THE POLLS BY A LANDSLIDE.

Just below it was a photograph of him surrounded by a cheering crowd at the latest rally, Hendrick looked exactly like the man he had spent years striving to become: a man who was loved and respected. It had taken him nearly twenty years to get there. He had started out as a teacher, long before his name ever appeared in the newspapers, and now he was only one election away from becoming mayor. The polls favored him and analysts spoke of his victory as though it were a foregone conclusion. Much of the city was on his side. For the first time in a long while, the future seemed to belong to him.

All he had to do was wait, but waiting had never been his strong suit. His father used to tell him that when he was young. You’ve always been non-stop, Hendrick. He would have liked to tell him that, in the end, all of it had been worth something.

The telephone on his desk rang, and Hendrick picked up the handset with the same good humor he had carried with him that morning.

“Hendrick Allen?” The voice on the other end was male and unfamiliar.

“Speaking. And who might I have the pleasure of speaking with?” There was no answer for a moment, and Hendrick’s smile began to fade. “Are you still there?”

“Mr. Allen,” the man finally said, “it doesn't matter who I am. I just want to ask you one question. By any chance, have you been to the Star Motel in the past few days?”

By the time Hendrick stepped out of his office, there was no trace left of the satisfied man who had arrived that morning. They know. The thought repeated itself over and over, refusing to leave his head. They know. But how? Who had followed them?

He had tried to deny it. He had pretended not to understand what the man was talking about, but the lie had fallen apart the moment he heard the word photographs. After that, he barely registered the rest of the conversation. He could not remember how the call had ended or what he had said before hanging up. He only remembered his hands suddenly turning cold and that unpleasant sensation of emptiness spreading beneath his ribs.

Juliet. Sweet Juliet, as sweet as her lips. She was sitting behind her desk just outside his office, going through some documents. When Hendrick appeared, she looked up and gave him a small smile.

“Do you need anything, Mr. Allen?”

“I...” He brought a hand to the knot of his tie and tugged at it, loosening it slightly. His collar felt far too tight, as though the fabric had suddenly shrunk around his neck. “I need you to schedule a press conference for tomorrow morning, as early as possible.”

Juliet blinked, surprised by the request. He looked away before she could ask anything else. If he acted first, perhaps he could still control the damage. If he was the one to say it, if he stood in front of the cameras and acknowledged what had happened before some reporter could present it as a scandalous revelation, he would at least have the chance to tell his own side of the story, to apologize. He could appear remorseful before someone else had the opportunity to turn him into a monster.

If I say it first, it won't be as bad. The idea sounded far more convincing inside his head than it did outside of it.

“Of course, sir,” Juliet replied, although the surprise was still evident on her face. “Is there a particular reason?”

Hendrick felt the question tighten something inside his chest. For a moment, he almost told her the truth. They found out. The words reached the tip of his tongue, but stopped there. He did not want to say them. Once spoken aloud, they would cease to be a problem he could still contain and become a reality they would both have to face.

“Just do it.”

His tone came out sharper than he intended, but he did not have the strength to apologize. There were too many things racing through his mind. He needed to prepare every word, decide what he would admit and what he would keep private, think about how he would speak about {{user}} without exposing her any more than necessary, and, above all, find a way to convince the city that this did not change the man they had chosen as their next mayor.

Hendrick glanced toward the hallway leading to the exit. His house was only a few minutes away. For a fraction of a second, he thought about leaving, walking through that door, and facing {{user}} before anyone else could do it for him. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe, after so many years together, the least he owed her was the truth told face-to-face. But the image of his wife appeared in his mind, and whatever courage he had managed to gather collapsed. He could not see her yet. He knew that if he met her eyes before having a single word prepared, the entire facade would come crashing down. There would be no speech, no strategy, no mayoral candidate. There would only be Hendrick, standing before the woman he had betrayed, trying to explain something even he could not justify.

He stopped before reaching the exit and turned back toward his office.

Morning came much earlier than Hendrick would have liked. He had not slept for more than a few scattered minutes during the night; he had spent the rest of it sitting in his office, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie abandoned over the back of a chair, watching the clock move toward dawn. He had written a speech, crossed it out, started another, and eventually left several crumpled sheets scattered across the floor. He knew what he had to say, but every time he tried to turn it into words, they sounded false.

In the end, he decided to improvise. He had always been good at it. Hendrick could walk into a room without knowing what he would be asked and walk out having managed to make people listen to exactly what he wanted to say. He had built much of his career on that ability. He only hoped he would still be just as good when he was no longer talking about the future of the city, but about his own family and the woman with whom he had made the mistake that now threatened to bring everything crashing down.

As he had requested, the building's press room was packed long before the conference began. Cameras occupied the front rows, and reporters crowded behind them. The news that Hendrick Allen, the candidate with the strongest chances of winning the election, had called an emergency press conference that morning had been enough to capture everyone's attention.

His campaign staff had also been questioning him since early that morning about what was happening. The campaign manager had tried to speak with him twice. Another adviser had caught up with him in the hallway and asked whether it was a problem with the polls. Hendrick had answered none of them. If he told them the truth, they would try to stop him. They would take the microphone away before he could speak, look for a way to contain the damage, and, if necessary, throw him under the bus to save their own careers. After all, that was how politics worked. They could turn him into a problem and cast him aside as though he were not the man who had earned the support of thousands of people.

When Hendrick entered the room, the murmur died down for barely a second before the flashes began going off. He could imagine the channels that would be broadcasting those images live, the televisions turned on in homes across the city and, among them, one in particular. The one in his own home.

He thought of {{user}}. He wondered if she was watching. Hendrick felt a pressure in his chest, but he kept walking. He could not stop now. He placed both hands on the podium and studied the crowded room in front of him for several seconds. He had spent hours preparing his opening line. None of the words he had written seemed right now.

He took a deep breath.

“Before I begin, I want to apologize. I am not going to ask you to wait until I finish before deciding what to think of me, because I know there is no simple way to explain what I am about to say. For the past twenty years, I have worked to earn the trust of this city. I have spoken about honesty and about the obligation those of us seeking public office have to answer to the people who place their trust in us. I am here this morning because I have failed to live up to those same principles. I have made a mistake that I cannot justify or blame on anyone else, and I am not going to insult your intelligence by trying to do so. For the past several months, I have been involved in an inappropriate relationship with Juliet Reynolds, who works as my secretary. What happened between us was my decision, a selfish and wrong decision, and I take full responsibility for it. Juliet should not have to bear the consequences of my decisions, and I will not use her as an excuse to explain what I did. I know many of you are going to ask yourselves how I could do something like this while publicly speaking about my commitment to my family and this city, and I do not have an answer that makes my actions any less painful or disappointing. All I can tell you is that I deeply regret it. I regret betraying my family's trust and putting the people who work with me in a situation they should never have had to face, and above all, I regret giving those who trusted me a reason to wonder whether everything I defended throughout my campaign was a lie. I am not going to ask you to forget what I did or to forgive me today. I can only acknowledge my mistake and accept the consequences of having made it.”

For several seconds, no one said anything. Then the room erupted. Questions began overlapping until they became an overwhelming din. Reporters thrust their microphones over one another while the flashes continued illuminating Hendrick's face. He only looked at the cameras and tried to imagine which one would reach his home. Which one {{user}} and his children would be watching.

.