A fire brighter than the sun, I sit cozily
waiting for him to return home safely.
An unexpected buzz from a friend
regretfully informs me of his appearance at a restaurant table for two,
but I was never invited.
My husband soon plows through the door, panting.
He said he was working. He’s nervous.
Strike one.

The next day I receive the news--I’m positive.
Rushing home with our surprise I frantically
burst through the front door, sprint to our
bedroom only to find
my “best friend”, nestled beside him.
He just got caught. He’s ashamed.
Strike two.

Two days later on our weekly date night,
strolling through Church St
we’re stitched together, hand and hand.
Desperately window shopping at expensive jewelry,
He smiles. He glows.
Ball one.

Incessantly pacing, anxious
for another late night return.
Outside, I search for him, scrambling impatiently to find where he might be.
I pause at the sight of him. My jaw
sinks, my cheeks soak with pain as I stare at him through the jeweler’s display case.
He stops. He freezes with self disappointment.
Strike three, you’re out.