When we got married, we had little cyanide capsules surgically installed, so that we could only activate each other's. It was perfectly foolproof, and it was intended as a gesture of trust. I always felt like saying things like "I trust you with my life" was cheap, and now we had a way to back it up. I didn't really think about it at the time. It felt like the right thing to do.

I always felt like if I had someone else's life in my hands there would be a power trip. Like I wouldn't be able to be trusted with it. Maybe it was because it was mutual that I never felt that way, or maybe it's because we really did trust each other, but it just felt so natural and perfect--like wearing new shoes. At first you're kind of aware of it and it's uncomfortable but then they get broken in and you forget you have them entirely.

I was on a business trip to California where it's warm and nice this time of year, and after the conference I stopped at the bar for a drink with a woman who reminded me of a girl I never quite got over. A drink or two, anyway. I don't remember a point where I could have not gone back to her hotel room. There's never a moment like that.

Later, still drunk, I confessed it all on the phone and my wife forgave me like the beautiful person she is. I knew it could have been my life, and I know she was just tired. Maybe she wasn't thinking. Maybe she'd want revenge.

Better safe than sorry, right? Safety was just the press of a button away.

I tossed the ring out the window and texted the other woman saying I'd ordered champagne if she was interested. This weekend would be ours.

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