He couldn’t believe he’d left it on the train again. This was the fourth phone in a month. His wife was going to kill him.

John slid his house-key into the lock and smoothly pushed open the door, “Amy! You home?” He didn’t need to wait for a lack of response to know she wasn’t in the house; an empty home has a unique feel. John placed his wallet and keys in his usual spot, and stepped into the family room. He froze.

On the walls were printed pictures from his phone. There was Sara giving him a blow-job in his office. There was his dick, sliding into Courtney, his student assistant. There was a nude shot of Latrice, bent over his desk, showing him the way to paradise. And more. Dozens more.

Right over the fireplace, where they’d hung that lovely seascape they’d found at the farmer’s market, Amy had written on it in her favorite coral lipstick- “I want a divorce, Asshole.”

Looks like he hadn’t left his phone on the train after all.