Goodbye, CEO Trashbag
On Valentine's Day, I set up a candlelit dinner and waited.
At 9 PM, my husband, Alfred Johnston, finally texted.
[Something came up at work. Don't wait for me.]
Then I saw her post.
[On a business trip with the CEO for Valentine's Day. Every hotel is fully booked—awkward...]
Vivian Bianca, his secretary.
Attached was a photo of a guy in a bathrobe, standing by a floor-to-ceiling window. The comments were all 'ooh, CEO's so hot and girl, you're in for a night.'
Vivian? Just dropped a smug emoji.
So that's what "something came up" meant—a romantic getaway with his secretary.
I screenshotted it, posted it on my own feed, and added a smiling emoji.
A second later, Alfred called, fuming. "Vivian was joking! Why are you so petty? She's young, not as calculating as you!"
I didn't let him finish. "Then let's get a divorce. That way, I won't have to care when you screw around and catch something."