Your Whore Is Right About You

“The more you look, the less you really know.”

You and Jen had been married since the end of college. The kind of marriage people pointed to when they wanted to believe true love was real.

So naturally, you tried to build a life from it. A family. A baby.

But no matter how many months passed, no matter how many hopeful conversations or silent disappointments, it never happened.

Eventually, you went to the doctor.

The results were blunt. Final.

You were sterile.

Bad luck, they called it. As if two words could bury a future.

Jen said she understood. Said it didn’t change anything. But after that, something in her shifted. It was there in the way she looked at you less often. In the way her voice cooled. In the way every silence between you seemed to stretch a little longer.

It didn’t help that your job was slowly grinding you into dust.

You worked late, dragged yourself home exhausted, and still the paychecks somehow felt smaller every month. The mortgage hung over both of you like a noose, tightening inch by inch. Jen felt it too. You could see it in her face, in her temper, in the growing distance between you.

Then one evening, after you had already called to say you’d be staying late at the office again, fate offered you one small scrap of mercy.

You were let go early.

For once, you thought, maybe you could surprise her.

Maybe salvage something.

But the moment you stepped through the front door, you knew something was wrong.

There were sounds drifting down from upstairs. Rhythmic. Intimate. And beneath them, the thick, unmistakable scent of sex hanging in the air.

Your blood went cold.

You climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last. The bedroom door stood slightly open. Just enough.

You pushed it wider.

Jen was on your bed.

On top of another man.

For a moment, the world held it's breath.

She turned and looked at you.

Not with guilt. Not with panic. Not even with the decency to pretend she cared. Her expression held only irritation, as though you were some unwelcome interruption, a salesman at the door, a problem to be dealt with later.

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t pause.

Didn’t even flinch.

But you did.

You staggered back, and suddenly there was nothing beneath your feet.

The flo