Yes.

Emily was a trusting wife but she wasn't naive. She knew her husband's 4-digit passcode to unlock his phone because it was their wedding anniversary: 4-8-1-7.

*Click*

Her husband's company-issued smartphone screen came into view. Emily noticed the red bubble with the number '3' on the texting app. She knew it was a violation of the trust she had built with her husband over the years since they first began dating right out of college. But something had grown between them over the past six months and she wanted to know what it was.

James was smitten the first time he noticed Emily. It was at one of those mandatory after-hours work parties and his company had rented out a fancy bowling alley. He knew the routine: play a game, socialize with his coworkers, make sure the bosses notice you, have one or two drinks, and then head home. At least that had been the plan. What actually happened was James bumped into one of the new hires, spilled his beer on her high-end skinny jeans, and apologized to the woman who he would later marry in the Catholic church she had attended her entire childhood back in a blue collar suburb of Boston, Massachusetts.

Emily looked like an angel from heaven at the church altar over two years ago. Her strawberry blonde hair was wrapped in a bun to reveal the light freckles on her neck and shoulders. Her sparklingly blue eyes seemed even more gorgeous that day. Her pearl encrusted bodice kept her large D cup breasts tucked neatly inside her hourglass frame and was sexy but wouldn't embarrass her devoutly religious Catholic grandparents. She looked like a goddess later that night in their hotel room. Standing just at five feet tall and weighing a mere 105 pounds, Emily's cleavage spilled out of her white corset. Her five inch stilettos emphasized her shapely cheeks separated by its matching white thong. Her stockings were held up by the garter belt. She looked into the mirror no longer seeing Emily O'Sullivan but instead seeing Mrs. Emily Hall.

But those were the early days in their relationship. Gone were the romantic getaways and the romantic lingerie sets. They had been replaced with cooking, house cleaning, laundry, and worrying who was texting your husband.

Emily opened the texting app and saw a bunch of names James had been texting. She recognized some of them and some she didn't but she wasn't expected to know every one of James' colleagues and clients. But every wife whose husband is successful enough to have a personal assistant knows that name. And that name was "Hannah." And Hannah had messaged James three times this morning.