Banned From My Wifes Passenger Seat

My wife had her heart set on a new Porsche. Every document was signed, every box ticked; all that was left was for me to swipe the card.

I’d taken the afternoon off work to play the supportive husband, standing there in the sleek, glass-walled showroom while she ran her hand over the hood like it was a holy relic. But just as I reached for my wallet, her phone vibrated on the marble counter.

A voice note played—loud enough for the entire room to hear.

It was her "junior assistant," a kid named Cody.