[The Instinct to Cheat]

When I discovered my wife's infidelity, I fell silent.
My wife and I had been married for two years. In the past year, our sex life had become less frequent. Partly, I was busy with work and came home exhausted every day; partly, our seven-year courtship had worn down our initial sexual desire, and marriage had become a mere cover for our fading feelings.
Holding my wife as we fell asleep at night, my limp penis always filled me with a sense of loss; the passion of yesteryear was gone. Occasionally, in the quiet of the night, I would hear her soft breathing beside me, knowing she was masturbating, but I lacked the energy to respond, and the next day's packed schedule of meetings required a good night's sleep.
So, that day, while my wife was showering, I inexplicably rummaged through her bag and found an opened box of condoms in an inner pocket.
A sense of relief washed over me. Perhaps I had been waiting for this; I loved my wife, a twenty-seven-year-old woman whose mature yet delicate body needed a man's touch. However, an overwhelming sense of bitterness welled up inside me. Which man had taken my wife through that thin layer of rubber?
The sound of my wife turning off the shower pulled me back to reality from my reverie. I hurriedly snapped a few photos of the condom box and put it back where it was. I didn't
sleep a wink that night, and the next day at work, I was completely distracted. Sitting in my office, I couldn't help but look at the photos on my phone. I scrutinized every detail: the Trojan condoms, a pack of 12, flattened, indicating they'd been in my wife's bag for quite some time. What bothered me even more was the "king size" label on the box—it seemed to be a European extra-large condom. My wife's lover must be quite well-off. Thinking about this, I became increasingly restless, so I took the day off and went home.
When I got home, my wife was preparing dinner. After we got married, my wife had worked for a small company, but later, because of sexual harassment from her boss, she quit with my support to become a full-time housewife.
"Why are you back so early?" My wife's soft voice came from the kitchen. I leaned against the door, admiring her back: a beige skirt hugged her undulating waist, and her fair legs peeked out from under the hem. The setting sun slanted in through the window, making her ankles look like jade, revealing the blue veins.
A complex emotion welled up inside me. In our cozy little house, it was as if a strange man was holding my wife's feet with his hands, roughly spreading her legs, and her pink, moist secret place was forced to be exposed to the man's huge penis...
"I'm talking to you!" My wife appeared in front of me without me noticing.
"Ah, nothing, nothing much at work today, so I came back early," I replied casually.
"I'm telling you, I've been staying home a lot lately, and I've gained weight," my wife said, returning to the kitchen to continue working.
"No way," I said, not noticing. I chatted with my wife casually, picking up her phone from the coffee table.
"Really, your belly's showing."
"Really?" My wife's phone wasn't password protected, and the contents were perfectly clean; there were no unusual WeChat messages. What about her photo album?
"I want to sign up for a yoga class with Xiaomiao and the others." Xiaomiao is my wife's best friend.
"Great, go ahead. It's good to exercise, summer's here, get some sweat." Her phone's photo album was full of selfies and everyday pictures. I flipped through them one by one. Hmm? What's this?
One photo caught my attention: unlike the other selfies taken with the front camera, this one was taken by someone else with my wife's phone. In the picture, my wife was lying on her back somewhere, her hair disheveled. Maybe it was my imagination, but the blush on her face looked a little unusual.
"Did you hear that?" My wife's voice suddenly exploded.
"Ah, what did you say?" Seeing my wife still in the kitchen, my heart calmed down, and I picked up my phone and went to the balcony.
"I said, I'll go with them tonight."
"Okay, go ahead." I quickly forwarded the photo to my phone and deleted the sending history.
After dinner, my wife changed into sportswear, grabbed her bag, and hurried out the door. I stood there, staring blankly at her retreating figure. Was that box of condoms real? I asked myself. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding; even if it didn't make sense, I hoped for a sliver of possibility. Perhaps I didn't want to face the truth behind it all, the black hole of a truth. My instincts told me it would destroy me, and destroy this relationship.
But strangely, this matter held a certain allure; the destruction of something beautiful was also a strange kind of beauty. A bittersweet feeling welled up in my heart, and my lower body seemed to harden. I pulled out my phone, trying to use the photo from that afternoon to calm my turbulent thoughts.
My wife in the photo looked quite unfamiliar; her fair face was flushed, her eyes squinted, as if looking at something outside the frame. Normally, I would have assumed it was a poorly taken photo, but just a day earlier, I had found an opened box of condoms in my wife's pocket. This low-angle shot had, without warning, become a picture of our intimate moments. It seemed like the next second, my wife would lift her hair, her eyes glazed, and take my burning hot penis into her mouth.
I sat there staring at the photo for what felt like forever, when suddenly it dawned on me: if my wife's iPhone hadn't disabled privacy services, it would be recording the location of the photo while it was being taken! I stumbled out my laptop and imported the photo. My wife is tech-illiterate; she probably wouldn't have turned that off, right? Sure enough, in the photo's properties, I saw the GPS coordinates.
On the map, those coordinates corresponded to a gym in the city!

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[The Instinct to Cheat]

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