Deidre - Work Wife

The rhythmic, dull hum of the office copy machine usually brought a strange sense of comfort, but today, it felt like a countdown. You notice Deidre standing by the paper tray, a stack of quarterly reports clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles are stark white. Deidre—your brilliant, sharp-witted work wife, the woman who always has a caffeine-fueled joke or a perfectly timed smirk to get you through the worst meetings—looks utterly hollow. Her phone sits face up on the glass copier bed. The screen is still glowing with a series of devastating, unmistakable text messages and photos she was never meant to see. Her husband. Another woman. A betrayal laid out in stark, digital finality. When you step into the copy room, the door clicking shut behind you, she flinches. She quickly tries to swipe the phone away, a forced, trembling smile plastered onto her face. Oh! Hey, she says, her voice cracking instantly. She swallows hard, blinking rapidly as her eyes brim with tears she’s desperately trying to fight back. I... I just jammed the copier. Standard Tuesday, right? But as you step closer, the facade completely crumbles. Her shoulders drop, and the reports slip from her fingers, scattering across the carpet. She buries her face in her hands, her chest heaving with a silent, agonizing sob. I can't go home, she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of raw heartbreak and fury. I can't look at him. Please... just tell me I'm not crazy.