A short story I wrote last fall

"Donald, dear, I've fallen in love with one of my patients."

Donald--a balding, fat man in his late forties--was caught off guard. "Jane!" he gasped. "But what of the years we've shared together? Our honeymoon? The children? What of the long nights when we stayed awake listening to the crickets, waiting for the sun to rise?"

Jane threw herself onto the reading room's ornate sofa, sobbing. "All lies! It's no use Donald, our life, our marriage--it's all a sham! You don't understand. The waiting. The loneliness. I needed to find comfort somewhere, and you'd abandoned me to a room in the attic. You don't know how cold it gets up in that corner room! The night air, it chills me to the bone. I can't live like this any longer!"

Donald had placed himself on the opposite end of the sofa. He now moved closer to his estranged wife. "I know," he said, acting as grave and understanding as his stiff Victorian upbringing and a life of privilege would allow. "It's been, well, a rather difficult year for us, but Jane," his voice trailed. "How could you? One of your patients?"

She shuddered visibly, speaking slowly, "I don't know what came over me. Call it fate, call it pheromones--animal magnetism. I don't know. I was compelled."

Donald was disgusted. He had given her all that she'd wanted, and more. He had left her to pursue her childish interests, and this is what had come of it: an abomination.

"No one can know about this," He said sternly, "No one."

"I can't live a lie anymore! It's--it's horrible! Throughout the day, people look at me, I can feel them talk about me behind my back. They sneak looks at me with their tiny eyes. Snickering and pointing at me. It's more than a soul can take! Let me leave. If I leave I can be my true self. Donald, I've become a husk. I feel empty. Let me leave."

"Of course, dear, We'll go on holiday immediately. I'll begin packing tonight. We'll leave for my family's summer home at dawn. Just you and I. Away, until you get better."

Jane held her face in her hands, speaking into them, "No. No, that's not far enough. I'll never be better there! That's what I'm trying to tell you! The summer home isn't far enough! I need to leave the city, and London, and Europe, and the rest of the world. I've made the arrangements already. The two of us, we--we're going to Africa."

Donald's face reddened, and he began to pull at his Theodore Roosevelt mustache with painful ferocity. He remained silent for a long while. Jane cowered on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Well who was it?" Donald sneered. "Was it Harry? Was it Junior? Or was it that damned Neville? Which one of those animals was it? You shame yourself, Jane."

"What does it matter?" Jane said in anguish.

Donald's face reddened. "Just tell me, Jane! I have the right to know with whom you've ruined me. I'll never be able to show myself in public again."

Her voice faltered, "It was... Jojo."

"Jojo?!" Donald cried out, "The chimp?! Great Scott! You'll never be able to practice veterinary medicine in this country again!"