My husband brought his “work wife” on our anniversary trip to Hawaii.

An Anniversary Trip for Three

My husband brought his workwife on our anniversary trip to Hawaii. When I got upset, he said I was being insecure and that men need female friends.

Now he’s begging me not to sign the divorce papers. I was heading to the airport when my husband Jerry texted me.

“I have a surprise, hope you’ll like it.” Jerry texted me.

I raced past the crowd of people at the entrance and spotted him at the check-in counter, but he wasn’t alone.

“Surprise, I invited Sasha,” he said, gesturing to his 26-year-old coworker who stood there with two pink suitcases.

This was the same woman who had him texting past midnight and sending hearts and selfies.

“She’s never been to Hawaii and just went through such a rough breakup. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” He said.

Sasha hugged me like we were best friends.

“You’re so lucky to have such a thoughtful husband,” she said.

“He used your miles to book my ticket so I could afford it.” She added.

I stood there frozen while Jerry showed me the boarding passes.

“I’ll seat for me, Sasha had the window, and Jerry between us. I know you like to sleep on planes anyway,” he said to Sasha.

She giggled a quick thank you. He handed over mine, then frowned when he saw my face.

“Don’t be weird about this,” he whispered in my ear.

“This is just corporate culture; everyone treats their work wife this way.” He whispered.

After checking in and dropping our bags off in the hotel lobby, Jerry suggested we grab a late lunch at the beachfront restaurant. The hostess smiled.

“Party of three, right? Your husband changed the reservation last month.” The hostess said.

I felt my chest tighten. Our anniversary lunch he’d planned for three people a month ago.

As if things couldn’t get worse, the meal itself felt like torture. Sasha sat between us, sharing bites off Jerry’s plate and telling stories about their office inside jokes while I sat there feeling like an outcast.

On our way back through the lobby, he stopped at the spa desk.

“I want to book tomorrow’s couple’s massage,” he said to the receptionist, pulling out his credit card for me, and he pointed at Sasha.

“Her,” he pointed.

When I stared at him, he shrugged.

“You hate massages anyway.” He shrugged.

“No,” I said.

“That we can’t afford them,” I told him.

Jerry shrugged.

“Same difference; it’s not a big deal.” Jerry shrugged.

But it was; it was a huge deal to me, and I was determined to put an end to it.

“I’m sorry, but their massages should be separate,” I told the spa desk.

The receptionist gave an awkward smile and nodded, adjusting their appointment while Sasha flashed an annoyed expression at Jerry. He quickly pulled me aside near the elevators, his grip painfully tight on my arm.

“You’re embarrassing me with this middle school jealousy,” he hissed.

“Everyone’s going to think you’re crazy. Is that what you want?” He hissed.

I shook my head slowly, and his grip loosened.

“You know every successful man has a work wife,” Jerry said, signaling for another round.

“You’re lucky I’m transparent about it; most guys hide it.” He said.

But the worst part of the trip happened when we finally went upstairs to our room. I felt my blood boil when the door opened.

There was one king bed and a tiny pullout couch that was shoved in the corner.

“This will be perfect for the three of us,” he grinned.

Sasha made a big show of volunteering to take the couch.

“I don’t want to cause any problems,” she said sweetly, looking at Jerry like they were sharing some private joke.

“You two should have the bed; it’s your anniversary.” She said.

I crawled into bed that night feeling like a stranger in my own marriage. Jerry gave me a quick peck on the forehead before turning away.

“See? Everything’s fine. You always make such a big deal out of nothing.” He said.

I woke up at 2:00 a.m. to whispering and giggling through the darkness. I watched my husband get up and walk over to the couch.

“Come on,” he whispered to Sasha.

“The bed’s huge; she won’t even notice.” He whispered.

I heard her fake protest for about two seconds before following him back. She slipped under the covers on his side, and he pulled her close against him.

“She’s out cold,” he whispered.

I lay there for another hour, completely still, listening to their synchronized breathing, his hand on her waist, her head on his chest in our anniversary bed.

The Confrontation and the First-Class Fraud

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I slipped out and locked myself in the bathroom with my phone. I booked the next flight home using his credit card.

I packed in the dark, then took photos of them tangled together just before I left. The Uber to the airport cost $200; I didn’t care.

I blocked his number during takeoff and watched the missed calls pile up. When I landed back home hours later, I wasted no time and found a lawyer to help me handle this mess.

I was collecting evidence, drawing up divorce papers, and that Monday when Sasha and Jerry returned to work, I marched into their office building with my lawyer, ready to see heads roll.

The entire C-suite was in their quarterly planning meeting, and I thought, “Wow, perfect timing.” Jerry’s face went from confused to white when he saw me walk in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, handing him the divorce papers in front of everyone.

“But I wanted to make sure you got these since you were too busy on our anniversary to notice I left.” I said.

Everyone stared quietly. His boss started to speak, but I wasn’t done.

I opened my laptop and hit send on the email I drafted to HR.

“I’ve just sent you receipts for the romantic dinners, the couple’s massage, and the first-class ticket to Hawaii that Jerry purchased for his coworker using the company card listed as client entertainment.” I said.

The CEO’s face twisted sourly.

“He used company funds for your anniversary trip?” The CEO asked.

“Oh no,” I said, pulling up the photo on my phone.

“He used them for Sasha’s trip. Our anniversary trip was just the three of us in one bed.” I said.