I was hunched over my desk, plowing through the endless task list for the week, when my phone buzzed with a text from my boss, Greg. Traveling with your wife doesn't suck, it read. Greg never passed up a chance to rub my nose in it, and I knew what was coming next. Sure enough, a photo popped up—a shot of my wife, Lisa, sitting across from him at a table, coffee in hand, her smile practically screaming last night was amazing. The smile says it all, doesn't it? came his follow-up text. That bastard knew how to twist the knife. Lisa's tight top hugged her full breasts, the ring I'd given her dangling on a chain around her neck—a look that was sexy as hell . But Greg didn't go for the obvious jab. No, he zeroed in on her smile, the one that used to be mine alone. Now, he got it more often than I did, and that stung in the best way possible.