Chapter 3 Katie Morrow
Katie Morrow
“Katie was an odd choice for a second wife. I mean, not that any man would blame Mark for wanting Katie. She’s beautiful and sweet and keeps her house in perfect condition.
She’s just the polar opposite of Willow, which is why everyone’s eyebrows raised a few inches when they started becoming serious. ”
Katie Morrow stood in the middle of her giant walk-in closet and stared down at the pair of panties she’d just found tucked into the pocket of her husband’s suit. For a moment she stopped breathing, then forced herself to suck in a deep gulp of air.
The suit was one of Mark’s heavier ones and rarely got any use because of its double lining and wool material.
In the three years they’d been together, she’d never seen him wear it.
Slowly, she unfurled the bit of lingerie and wondered how her husband would react if he did happen to pick out this suit and discovered this in the pocket.
Would he tell her?
Would he throw it away?
Or would he hide it, as a souvenir from her, a reminder of the life he’d once lived, the relationship he’d once had?
It’s sad that you can be married to someone for two years and not know the answers to those questions.
In some ways, they knew each other intimately.
Beyond so. It felt like she could read his thoughts most days, they were so clear.
Plus, there were the little things. Take, for instance, the fact that Mark’s celebrity crush was Jennifer Garner’s character in Alias.
That his TikTok feed was full of sheepdog-herding videos and landscape remodels, and that if he needed to assemble a piece of furniture or replace the windshield wipers on her Porsche, he’d be helpless.
She knew the temperature he liked his swordfish, his top-ten wine vintages, his pant-inseam length, the name of his cigar broker, and his biggest insecurity—his ears.
All that, but she didn’t know how he would handle this expensive piece of pale-pink lace.
It was obvious these had been worn. She stumbled backward on the plush white carpet and dropped into the chair beside the room’s makeup counter.
When Katie had moved in, this closet was the one place she immediately both loved and hated.
It was every woman’s dream. A massive space, over a thousand square feet in total, the masculine and feminine sections in quiet harmony, with discreet doors keeping all the messy items hidden and the open lit cubbyholes displaying the finer items like jewels in a case.
It had a counter for Mark, with a sink for him to shave at, a rack of clippers and trimmers, his toothbrush, hair products, and colognes all in perfect rows along a crystal shelf.
The female counter was built for a full glam squad, with every hair-care tool plugged in through the base and nestled in its own precut holder.
The lights changed depending on the user’s choice, and there were a half dozen machines that were salon grade and ready for an intensive facial experience.
When she’d moved in, all the clothes and shoes and purses had been relegated to the basement, but Willow’s makeup and beauty items had been left behind, likely forgotten or ignored by the moving crew, their curiosity and oversight not extending to the hidden cabinets and drawers in this section of the room.
Katie was a woman who had always been fairly high maintenance, with a makeup drawer full of Sephora purchases, regular facials, quarterly Botox injections, and a healthy addiction to an evening skin-care routine.
This setup took that level of self-care, laughed in its face, and raised it to the nth degree.
Now, with the first scrap of Willow’s clothing in hand, Katie wondered if Mark’s ex had approached their sex life with the same fastidious level of attention she had devoted to her appearance.
She hoped not. Add in any level of sexual gymnastics, and Katie would drop even further behind in this wives’ race.
Putting your used panties in your husband’s suit pocket was a triple-twisting double back tuck compared to Katie and Mark’s own sexual adventures, or lack thereof.
The issue wasn’t Katie. She was always prepped, shaved and clean.
Always willing, though she could be more of an initiator at times.
Still, she was always vocal and complimentary.
Honestly, if someone stood outside their bedroom door, they’d think Katie was in a cheerleading competition, she was so damn enthusiastic.
But their sessions never felt like Mark’s heart was in it. His orgasm was an effort. The erection was never at full attention, and it seemed like the act was often more of an obligatory chore.
Maybe the panties weren’t Willow’s. The possibility knocked her in the gut, and she put a hand on her stomach, pressing her fist against the sharp pain.
Maybe Mark had been cheating on her and these were his assistant’s, or a client’s wife’s, or some stranger’s from a bar.
She should ask Mark. Just confront him with them and see what he said.
Katie had always had a good bullshit meter.
If she surprised him, she could judge his reaction, his expression, the smoothness or anxiety of his reply.
And maybe it was a conversation that would lead to a deeper dive, an uncovering of some of the details of the marriage he used to have.
She straightened up, enthusiastic about the idea, even as the pessimistic side of her psyche laughed at the idea of Mark saying anything about his first wife.
Mark never spoke about Willow.
Ever.
“Mrs. Morrow?” One of the maids stood at the entrance to the closet, her fist raised as if she might knock on the wall.
“Yes?” Katie closed her hand around the thong, hiding it in her fist.
“There’s someone here from the police department. They’d like to speak to you.”