The Perfect Wife's Dirty Little Secrets

THE PERFECT WIFE'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS

Chapter One: The Woman in the Pantry

Victoria Hayes had been standing in her pantry for exactly eleven minutes when she heard her husband call her name.

"Victoria?"

She closed her eyes.

No.

Absolutely not.

Whatever it was, the answer was no.

"Victoria, have you seen my blue shirt?"

She stared at the shelves in front of her.

There were cans of tomatoes, three boxes of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, and a bag of chocolate chips she'd hidden behind the flour because her family had apparently been born without the ability to respect private property.

There was also a small folding chair.

The chair was important.

It was the reason she'd come into the pantry in the first place.

Not for food.

Not to organize anything.

Not to retrieve the shopping list she'd written yesterday and subsequently lost.

She'd come in here to sit down, drink her coffee, and enjoy a few precious minutes in which nobody needed anything from her.

It was the closest thing she had to a vacation.

"Victoria?"

She took a slow breath.

"Have you checked your closet, Richard?"

"Yes!"

"Have you checked the laundry basket?"

"Yes!"

"Have you checked the place where you put your clothes when you take them off?"

There was a pause.

"What place?"

Victoria looked toward the ceiling.

"Dear Lord, give me strength."

"What?"

"Nothing, darling!"

She picked up her coffee.

It had gone cold.

Of course it had.

Victoria was beginning to suspect that the universe had a personal grudge against her.

She took a sip anyway.

Then Richard called again.

"Victoria, I think the washing machine has stopped working!"

She nearly swallowed her coffee the wrong way.

"The washing machine?"

"Yes!"

"The machine that washes clothes?"

"That's the one!"

She put her mug on the shelf.

"Richard, did you put anything in it?"

"Of course I did!"

"Did you turn it on?"

"Victoria, I'm not an idiot!"

She looked at the ceiling again.

"I'm sure the washing machine appreciates your confidence, darling."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll be right there!"

She stood, straightened her shirt, and picked up her mug.

Then she noticed the chocolate chips.

For a moment, she considered eating them directly from the bag.

She was an adult.

She paid taxes.

She had given birth twice.

Surely she had earned the right to eat chocolate in peace.

She took a handful.

Then another.

Then she heard little footsteps approaching the pantry.

"Mummy?"

Victoria shoved the bag behind the flour.

Max appeared in the doorway.

"Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding."

"Then why are you in the pantry?"

"Because I enjoy looking at canned vegetables."

He considered this.

"That's weird."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Can I have some chocolate chips?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because they're for baking."

"What are you baking?"

Victoria stared at him.

At nine years old, her son was already better at cross-examination than most criminal attorneys.

"Something that doesn't involve you eating the ingredients."

Max nodded thoughtfully.

Then he looked at her mug.

"Is that coffee?"

"Yes."

"Can I have some?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's coffee."

"But why can you have it and I can't?"

Victoria took his little face between her hands.

"Because, darling, when you grow up, you'll discover that some things are the only reasons adults get out of bed in the morning."

Max blinked.

"Like video games?"

She kissed his forehead.

"Exactly like video games."

He smiled and ran off.

Victoria watched him go.

Then she heard Richard shout from upstairs.

"VICTORIA! I THINK I KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE WASHING MACHINE!"

She froze.

A terrible thought crossed her mind.

What if I just leave?

Not forever.

Just for a little while.

Perhaps a hotel room somewhere with a comfortable bed, room service, and absolutely no men asking her where their own clothes were.

She could call herself Veronica.

She could grow her hair out.

She could develop an interest in birdwatching.

Nobody would ever know.

Then her phone buzzed.

A message from Brenda.

BRENDA: Morning, darling! Are you coming to the neighborhood committee meeting on Thursday? We have SO much to discuss!

Victoria stared at the message.

The neighborhood committee.

The place where grown women gathered to discuss flower beds, community safety, and why the Hendersons' recycling bins had been visible from the street for three consecutive days.

She typed a reply.

Absolutely! Looking forward to it! ❤️

She pressed send.

Then she whispered, "I hope every single one of you gets a flat tire."

She finished her cold coffee, stepped out of the pantry, and headed upstairs.

Richard was standing in the laundry room with his hands on his hips.

"I figured it out!" he announced.

Victoria braced herself.

"What did you figure out, darling?"

"I forgot to press the start button."

Silence.

A long, beautiful silence.

Victoria looked at the washing machine.

Then at her husband.

Then back at the washing machine.

"Well," she said sweetly, "thank goodness you were here to solve that mystery."

Richard grinned.

"You're welcome!"

He kissed her cheek and wandered away.

Victoria remained motionless.

She could hear him whistling.

Whistling.

She wanted to throw a sock at his head.

Instead, she walked into her bedroom, opened the bedside drawer, and pulled out a small notebook with a pink cover.

On the first page, she'd written:

THINGS I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SAY OUT LOUD.

She flipped to a fresh page.

And wrote:

October 27.

Today, my husband nearly lost a fight with a washing machine.

My son thinks coffee is a human rights issue.

My daughter has perfected the art of looking at me as though I personally ruined her life by giving birth to her.

And Brenda wants to discuss recycling bins.

If I disappear, please check the pantry first.

Victoria paused.

Then she added one final sentence.

If Richard tells anyone I ran away, check the washing machine. I'm fairly certain it will have something to do with him.

She snapped the notebook shut.

For the first time that morning, she smiled.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Because Victoria Hayes had just discovered something wonderful.

She might not be able to control her family.

She might not be able to control her neighbors.

She might not even be able to control what happened to her chocolate chips.

But she could write about all of it.

And if there was one thing Victoria Hayes knew how to do, it was tell a story.

Especially when the story involved people who annoyed the living daylights out of her.

Little did she know that, in just three days, one of those stories would change her life forever.