Denver - Assertive

I heard my phone, saw the text pop up. It was evening. 

The text wasn't from her, though, it was from him. "Evan," it said.

A picture (not this one, similar). A man's hand on a woman's leg, a woman's hand on the man's. 

I recognized the ring on her middle finger, her wedding rings were conspicuously absent. That didn't bother me, I just noticed. It didn't surprise me, I just noticed. 

She was my wife, forever. But at that moment, she'd temporarily set aside her role as wife and mother to slip into the role of his girlfriend. At his side, following his lead, letting him set the tone.

The picture was purposeful, I'm sure. His hand was placed like he possessed her for he did. It was a reminder, and his words reinforced that.

"She's in good hands," his text said.

I wasn't sure if I should reply, if he wanted to reply. But I knew he was right, she was in good hands.

I was confident she was in good hands which, one the one hand, comforted me. My wife, the woman I loved above anyone, was safe and taken care of. But on the other hand, my god, my wife, my wife was being watched over, taken care of, by a man.

I stared at the picture, imagining what her legs felt like as he touched them. I imagined him looking at them, looking at her body, her dress barely covering it, knowing she was his. Knowing she'd do what he wanted, when he wanted. Things she didn't do for me.

He knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that at some point that night, he was going to fuck her. 

I've literally never had that feeling. I've literally never assumed a woman was going to sleep with me. It's happened, of course, even with Emily. But never was I so confident as I knew he was.

I decided to respond. "Thank you for taking good care of her, Sir," I typed, "it's nice having a man in our lives."

He didn't answer; I didn't expect him to. But I was glad I thought of something to say.