Cherie's reaction

Cherie is frozen, her hand hovering over her mouth. Her breathing is coming in short, panicked gasps. The blanket has slid off her lap, revealing the way her sundress has hitched up, her thighs pressed together in a **** attempt to stifle the throbbing ache between them.

“It’s just a show,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “It’s just Mack. It’s not... it’s not me.”

But she doesn't get up. She stares at the blank screen of the commercial, her mind replaying the image of the ring against the skin. She feels the heavy, silent weight of you standing behind the sofa. She knows you did this. She knows you're showing her the truth: that her "faithfulness" is a costume she’s tired of wearing.

She slowly reaches down, her fingers trembling as they brush against the hem of her dress. She thinks of Chad in the garage, and Mike, and then she thinks of you, and the beach, and the book, and the stripper. She closes her eyes, a single tear of frustration and desire escaping as she begins to touch herself, her wedding ring showing the same as Marcy's was in the darkened room.