Free No Ordinary Affair by Fiona Wilde, Sullivan Clarke

I thought.
    Later we went upstairs and made love. Still worried about my bottom, I made sure the lights were out and Mark, ever accommodating and glad to have the attention, didn’t complain about it. It would be a week before the marks faded away, but the memory of the affair? Well, I’m still dealing with that.
    I suppose you’re wondering how that all panned out. After all, you only got a glimpse of my farewell to Ethan Willoughby at the beginning of my story.
    I didn’t see him the next day. It was the weekend and I didn’t work weekends. I didn’t see him Monday. My two days off with Mark had been the best we’d shared since our marriage began, and I felt I was finally starting to sort things out. Instead I called in at work to ask Miss Parsham if she’d mind my taking two days off to visit my sister in Kent.
    She grumbled and complained and tried to make me feel terrible for calling her on such short notice, but in the end acquiesced and wished me a good visit, which was only fair given that I’d never even taken a sick day.
    My visit with Sally made me feel much better. I did not tell her what I did and I knew early on that resisting the urge to confess would be a constant struggle. And it has been. However, when weighed against the cost of disrupting our lives I believe carrying the burden is the least I can do for Mark. And for myself. So every night I ask myself, and God, for forgiveness and commit myself anew to my marriage.
    As for Ethan Willoughby, I had convinced myself that he was little more than a player and I was little more than a pawn. I imagined him smirking when he found the ledger gone, and then moving on to replace me with one of the many other discontented village wives.
    So when a note arrived at the office addressed to me – a note that turned out to be from Mr. Willoughby - I was genuinely surprised by the intensity of its tone.
    “Dear Mary,” it read. “What can I say other than I’m sorry. When I saw you drive off last week I was devastated to think I had hurt you and I can only imagine what you think of me. And while I know I have no right to ask this of you, would you please meet me Tuesday evening on the corner by the Fox and Goose Tavern? It’s quite public so you don’t have to worry that I’ll try anything. I just want to see you one last time. I’ll not ring you at work and will simply trust you to show up at eight o’clock if you agree. Fondly, Ethan Willoughby.”
    Miss Parsham was dying to know who sent the note.
    “Just a man who appreciated my help with a gift selection,” I said. “Nothing more.” But I could tell by her glare and subsequent silent treatment that Mrs. Parhsam felt slighted at not being allowed to read it. But I didn’t let that bother me. She’d get over it. She always did.
    I suppose Ethan wanted his ledger back. I’d taken it with me to my sister’s and looked at it in the privacy of my room. I wasn’t surprised to find that his student “roll” listed not just my name but the names of other women in the town – Amanda, Helen and a number of others I knew by sight if not personally. Beside them he’d written the types of punishment he’d given each of us, as well as “traits.” I, apparently, was the “smart” one. He’d also given us a grade and I could only assume it was for sexual performance. I got the highest mark in the class; it was not a distinction I was proud of and I threw the ledger in my sister’s pond. Professor Willoughby, I told myself, would just have to understand.
    I went back and forth over whether to meet him, but in the end decided I needed this one last test, if nothing else so I could prove to myself that I did not need him, did not want him, did not care about what he had to offer.
    It was raining that night, a steady, cold rain. I half expected him not to show up, but he was there.
    “I know what you must be thinking,” he said when he saw me.
    “I seriously doubt that, Ethan,” I said. “And