Pounding on the front door made an echo that lasted for minutes on end, but no one came to answer.

“Am I at the right place?” I asked myself, checking the house number just one last time, before the door finally swung open. “Excellent. I’m-”

My breath was gone. I didn’t even exhale, it just disappeared.

“Can I help you?” she asked, covering her eyes from the bright morning sun. One strap of her dress fell down to her shoulder, while the other struggled to keep the woman contained. I averted my eyes, knowing that the lace fabric only needed to slip another half of an inch before she would lay bare in front of me.

“I’m very sorry. My name is Gunther, with the accounting firm, Brecker & Hart,” I said, even going so far as to close a few of my own buttons, just to seem more professional.

“Oh, sure. My husband probably called you. Come inside.”

She suddenly seemed very aware of how little her silk chemise actually covered, and awkwardly crossed her arms in front of herself to cover her bust.

“Um, he may not be back for another few minutes. Can I get you something?”

“Oh, maybe a water, I guess. Is that ok?”

“Sure,” she said, quickly disappearing from the room.

The foyer was furnished with a few small tables along the wall, but the living space she had led me into was barren. The only things inside the massive room were a singular couch and a faded spot on the wall, where a seventy inch television had once been displayed.

“We only have sparkling water. I hope that that is ok,” she said, handing me a green bottle and sitting on the couch next to me.

“I’ll be just fine.”

My eyes were drawn to her more than ever, but not due to any sense of sex-appeal. The wife had pulled a grey hoodie over her outfit, and seeing the bare cotton juxtaposed to her expensive undergarments was funny to see.

I took off my glasses and tucked them into my pocket. “When did you say your husband would be back?”

“He told me within the hour and that was a while ago. It should be soon.”

“Ah, ok then,” I told her. “Perfect.”

* * *

Waking up with a hangover is a sign you did something bad. Waking up on the floor is a sign you’ve done something worse.

That mantra rolled through my head as I stood up from the pristine white carpet, stained only by two wet patches, one from drool and the other from a bottle of whiskey.

“Be home in an hour,” is what my husband’s text said, and even though I had fallen for it a hundred times before, I put on that green chemise he liked, because he thought it brought out my eyes. I still painstakingly applied that eyeliner he liked. I still fucking thought to myself, “He will be here.”

A knock at the door sent me rushing downstairs, but the light from the sun was blinding.

“Excellent.