The Flight Attendant's Massage Therapist

My wife is a flight attendant who comes home exhausted after every shift and heads straight to the massage parlor downstairs.

She says, "I need to unwind after a long day of flying. Otherwise, it's unbearable."

Little did I know, the massage was just a cover. The real reason was to cheat on me.

I watched bitterly as my wife applied her makeup, wanting to stop her from leaving, but a text message cut me off.

A sideways glance at her phone sent a wave of bitterness through my entire body.

"Don’t forget to wear that lingerie I gave you yesterday. You’ll look stunning. I’ll show you just how wild I can be."

Seeing their intimacy, I decided to file for divorce.

But then she dropped to her knees, begging for forgiveness, claiming she was forced into it.

My name is Ethan Sullivan. I used to be a pilot, but now I work as a sales manager at a tech company.

My wife, Ava Anderson, is a flight attendant—slender, radiant, and the envy of all our friends.

Lately, though, I’ve noticed how tenderly she treats other men, always making excuses to go out after work.

Today, I came home to find Ava fresh out of the shower, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

She stood by the mirror in a sleek black dress, applying lipstick, looking utterly seductive.

The sight of her sent heat rushing through me.

I moved to embrace her, but she pushed me away, a flicker of disgust in her eyes.

"Ethan, can’t you grow up? Always thinking about that kind of thing."

I never expected her to reject me. I stood frozen, unable to react.

Isn’t intimacy normal between spouses? Since when did it become immature?

I wanted to confront her, but seeing her like this, my anger dissolved into hurt.

"But it’s been almost two months. Didn’t we agree to try for a baby yesterday?"

Something about my words set her off.

"Ethan, are you insane? A baby would ruin me! You can’t fly anymore—do you want to take my dreams too?"

"You could return to work after recovering—"

"Don’t even think about it, Ethan. I’m tired. I need to relax, not argue about nonsense."

With that, she turned back to her makeup, ignoring me completely.

I never imagined she’d dismiss our future so casually. A crushing helplessness washed over me.

I opened my mouth to reason with her, but a text notification cut me off.

"Don’t forget to wear that lingerie I gave you yesterday. You’ll look stunning. I’ll show you just how wild I can be."

The message felt like an ice-cold dagger. I couldn’t believe the woman before me had changed so much.

Worse—the sender was Liam Evans, the massage therapist from downstairs.