As always, the movie has already started. He slides into the seat next to her and discreetly offers his hand. Their fingers weave together.
For ninety-three minutes he’s hers. Not his wife’s, not his sons’, not his constituents’, but hers alone.
He’s a party big shot with presidential aspirations. That’s why their relationship has to be hidden. She’s been his dirty little secret for thirteen years, but he tells her someday that will end. Her mother tells her not to hold her breath.
As the credits roll, he whispers, “See you next month, honey.”
“Okay, Dad. I love you.”