The Misunderstanding Next Door

Summary

Lied to my wife about working overtime, only to book a hotel room with three of my buddies for a secret poker night.

I was just about to rake in a massive straight flush.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice drifted in from the room next door.

It was that kind of voice.

My buddies let out dirty grins, instantly losing interest in the cards.

But for me, my entire hand clattered to the floor.

Because that voice, the pitch, the exact rhythm of her breathing, sounded identical to my wife.

I called her phone. Voicemail.

I called her mother. Her mom said she hadn't even shown up.