Chapter 3

"What does 'work husband' mean?" Maren asked.

Her voice was calm, but I felt accused at once.

I took the phone and replied, "Home," right in front of her.

"It's something people on the team say. Just a joke."

"I don't like the joke."

"You don't even know her. Why are you so hostile?"

Maren studied me for several seconds.

"I'm talking about a boundary. Why do you keep turning this into me hating her?"

I disliked the word "boundary."

It sounded like a ruler being placed against each thing I had done, forcing me to admit that some of it was not innocent.

So I turned the question around.

"Do you trust me that little?"

The tactic worked. Maren's voice softened immediately.

She explained that it was not about distrust. She simply believed married people should not accept names like that from someone else.

I pressed the advantage.

Would she demand to inspect every message from every woman I worked with? Did ordinary business now require her approval?

I exaggerated one specific boundary into the loss of all my freedom, because that was the easiest way to make her sound irrational.

"All I'm asking is that you tell her not to call you that," Maren said.

"And embarrass the entire team over one nickname? You think that's reasonable?"

"So it's fine if I'm the one who feels humiliated?" Maren asked. "If you think I don't understand her, I can try. Invite her to dinner this weekend."

I refused before she had even finished speaking.

I said Blaire was very direct and probably would not get along with Maren. Then I said work and home should stay separate, so there was no reason to bring a coworker into our house.

"You talk to her until midnight every night, but now you remember that work and home should be separate?"

I accused Maren of making another sarcastic remark.

The truth was, I did not want them to meet because I knew I told two different stories to the two women.

To Maren, Blaire was a younger colleague who needed my guidance.

To Blaire, Maren was a wife who did not understand me and left me exhausted.

If they ever sat at the same table, my innocence would lose the ground it stood on.

Then Maren took out her phone and showed me a screenshot.

In a photo from a team dinner, Blaire was wearing my suit jacket and flashing a peace sign beside me. Someone in the comments asked if my wife would be angry.

I had replied, "My wife knows how to be cool about it."

"When did I agree to let you use my being 'cool' as entertainment for the two of you?" Maren asked.

I pushed the phone away. I said people did not mean what they posted online.

But I knew I had enjoyed writing that comment.

It let me have a steady wife at home while looking free inside another intimate relationship.

I needed Maren not to mind, because her silence proved I had never crossed a line.

Whether she truly minded did not matter.

I walked into the bathroom before she finished speaking.

Over the sound of the shower, I heard her ask through the door, "If I called another man my work husband, would it still be just a joke?"

The water was loud enough for me to pretend I had not heard.

That was exactly what I did.

The next day, Blaire changed the team chat name while I watched.

"Work Spouses LLC - Clients Pay Up Front."

I laughed when I saw it.

"Was your wife actually mad last night?" Blaire asked.

I repeated Maren's words and joked, "She overthinks everything."

Blaire looked down with a little smile.

"She must care about you a lot. If I were her, I might be jealous too."

That should have warned me.

Instead, I heard the hidden suggestion: even Blaire knew there was something between us worth being jealous of.

I did not end the conversation.

"She didn't use to be like this," I said. "After years of marriage, some people get insecure."

I took Maren's reaction to a real injury and blamed it on her age, our marriage, and her own weakness.

A faint sound came from the hallway.

I looked up.

Maren stood outside the conference room, holding the document folder I had left at home.