Marissa got out of the car, staying seated for a moment and watching Cyril button his coat.  Did he always dress so... professionally when he came here?  The thought made her feel a little ill, and she wanted to ask him to take her home.  This felt like a terrible mistake suddenly, and she wanted to leave.<br/><br/>But she didn't.  Instead, she made herself get out of the car, looking into her husband's eyes.  What was he thinking?  His face was a mask, and she couldn't read him at all.  He also wasn't saying anything.  She was silent too.  What did a woman say to a man as they stood at the door of his mistress?  What was it that Bridget gave him that he had chosen to stray for so many years?  The beautiful redhead had tried to explain, that day at the park the week before.  But honestly, Marissa still didn't understand.  She didn't understand why this woman was more important to Cyril than she was.<br/><br/>As she had done so often in the past months, she pushed the pain away, compartmentalizing it as best as she could.  Straightening her spine, she reminded herself that she was a strong woman and that she was fighting to save her marriage.  Her heels clipped against concrete as she walked up the driveway to the porch, and she looked down at herself.  She was dressed exactly like Bridget had instructed her, her heels black and strappy.  Underneath her pants, she wore thigh-high stockings that Cyril had not yet seen.  On top, she had on a shirt that was form-fitting.  Nothing about her outward appearance betrayed her; she looked professional and cool.  It was only on the inside that she shook like a leaf as she stood next to her husband and pressed the doorbell.