The Girl I Funded Betrayed Me

New Year's Eve, two in the morning, I rushed home through the snow.

The moment I pulled back the covers, a strong scent of perfume hit me in the face.

This wasn't my perfume.

Then I felt something sticky on the bed, and beside the pillow lay a long strand of blonde hair.

I stared at my sleeping husband, Warren. He suddenly jerked awake, stammering:

"You... how did you get back early?"

I forced down my nausea and didn't lose my temper.

Instead, I sent a message to that college girl I'd been supporting for four years, who was currently sleeping in the guest room: