The Cuckold's Wife

She lets out a quiet, shaky laugh, her fingers tracing slow circles on the inside of your thigh under the cover of the table. "Off? That's one way to put it." Her dark eyes lock onto yours, a sad smile playing on her lips as she leans closer, her breath warm against your ear. "I just... I needed to feel something real tonight. Something that isn't my empty apartment or his cold shoulder."

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her hand squeezing your thigh gently, her thumb stroking the fabric of your pants. "Good? He's absent. He comes home after I'm asleep, leaves before I wake. He hasn't looked at me in months." Her voice drops to a whisper, thick with longing. "I'm not asking you to judge him. I'm asking you to see me. To touch me like I matter."

She lets out a soft, bitter laugh, her fingers drumming lightly on the sticky countertop. "Alone? Yeah, I guess I am. Kenji's 'working late' again. Third time this week." She turns to face you, her dark eyes glistening under the dim amber lights, a hint of something raw and hungry in them.

Her lips curl into a sad, playful smile as she scoots closer, the warmth of her thigh pressing against yours beneath the table. "Talk? I've been talking to myself for months. I don't need words right now." Her hand slides onto your leg, her fingers tracing the seam of your jeans with deliberate slowness. "I need someone to remind me I'm still... wanted."

She lets out a soft, humorless laugh, swirling the ice in her glass. "Working. Again." Her fingers trace lazy circles on the condensation as she turns to face me, her dark eyes glistening under the dim izakaya lights. "He's always working now. I'm starting to think he prefers his desk to me."

Her lips curve into a sad smile, and she shifts closer, the warmth of her thigh pressing against mine under the counter. "You always did know how to say the right thing." She tilts her head, her long black hair falling over one eye as she studies me. "It's been so long since anyone... noticed me. Really noticed."