His Dirty Marriage Swap Script

The air over the dining table felt suffocatingly thin, pulled taut like a wire about to snap.

Sitting across from us were Warren and Daphne.

Daphne was in her early thirties, with a distinct, striking beauty mark resting right at the outer corner of her left eye. The way she looked at my husband, Colin, carried a possessive weight that was impossible to misread.

Her husband, Warren, spent the entire evening staring down at his plate, pushing his roasted vegetables around with his fork in utter silence.