The drive to my best friend Mark' s father' s 60th birthday party felt good, the kind of easy trip you take to see family.
My wife, Sarah, was supposed to be in London for a work conference, nursing a sprained ankle.
But when I stepped inside, my eyes scanned the crowd, and there she was, kneeling in the center of the living room.
She was participating in a formal tea ceremony, dressed in a beautiful silk dress I' d never seen.
 "What a good, respectful daughter-in-law!"  Mark' s aunt boomed, praising her.  "Mark, you found a real treasure." 
  My heart hammered against my ribs as I saw her, my wife, here, being celebrated as his wife.
The whiskey bottle in my hand suddenly felt heavy and cold.
Sarah' s eyes locked with mine across the room, her polite smile vanishing, replaced by pure panic.
She rushed towards me, pulling me into a quiet hallway.
 "Liam, what are you doing here?"  she hissed, her voice frantic.
 "Last I heard, you were in London with a sprained ankle,"  I retorted, my voice dangerously low.
She claimed Mark' s father had terminal cancer, and she was just  "helping"  fulfill his dying wish to see Mark settled.
 "You' ll lend me your wife, right? We' re best friends, you wouldn' t mind, would you?"  Mark asked, joining us, his tone infuriatingly casual.
The sheer audacity, the betrayal, stole my breath.
My wife, my best friend.
 "A few days?"  I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.  "Is that all? I guess his dying wish doesn' t include seeing his grandkids, then. Or do you think he' ll live long enough for you two to pop one out?" 
The smile vanished from Mark' s face, and Sarah' s eyes widened in horror.
The casual charade was over.
The real party was just beginning.