An Office "Coincidence"
I'd forgotten Emma's kindergarten health report. On impulse, I dropped it off at Ethan's office midday. The receptionist recognized me. "Lily? Ethan's in a meeting. Sophia's office seems empty—you can wait inside?" She gestured inward. I pushed open Ethan's door. He wasn't there. Papers and blueprints cluttered his desk. My eyes locked on the corner.
Two white porcelain coffee cups. Lipstick smudged clearly on both rims—one my familiar coral pink, the other a bolder wine red. My heart skipped a beat. Beside them lay a small silver lip balm, cap off, the tube a rich berry hue. I recognized the brand—expensive. Sophia had used it at the café once. My throat tightened. The office air conditioning blasted cold, yet heat surged to my temples. I set down the flimsy report; the paper landed silently, utterly insignificant.
"Stop Imagining Things"
That evening, ironing his shirt, I couldn't resist. "I stopped by your office today with Emma's report... saw your and Sophia's cups together," I kept my tone light. "You've been having private meetings lately?" He was scrolling through industry news on his phone and frowned. "What are you implying?" His voice sharpened. "She's my partner. Grabbing coffee to discuss work is normal. Lily," he set the phone down, weary and impatient.
"The company's under huge pressure. Can't you stop imagining things at home?" Steam billowed from the iron, damp and hot on my face. My grip tightened on the collar. "Just asking," I pressed the iron down hard; steam hissed, spreading a wet stain on the fabric. He said nothing more. Only the iron's rhythmic sizzle filled the room.
The Text Bomb
Calm before the storm is often the cruelest deceit. Ethan traveled to Shanghai for an industry summit. For three days. He left his phone charging at home. The screen lit up. A message preview popped: "Sophia: Landed? Miss your scent. Shouldn't have let you leave last night." Sent at 1:08 AM. A string snapped in my mind.
The world went silent, only my heart pounding violently. Last night? He'd claimed the meeting ran late, so he stayed at the hotel. Blood rushed to my head, then drained, leaving me cold-limbed. I stared at those white-lettered words, each searing my retinas: *Miss your scent. Shouldn't have let you leave last night.*
Confrontation
I called him. My fingers trembled. "Hello?" Background noise buzzed faintly. "Where were you yesterday?" My voice was terrifyingly calm, like frozen water. "At the hotel. Told you—the meeting..." "With Sophia?" I cut him off. Dead silence. Even the background hum vanished. After long seconds, he stammered, panicked: "You're... you're crazy! Lily, don't jump to—" "I have her text," each word an icicle. "'Miss your scent.
Shouldn't have let you leave last night.'" I enunciated slowly. "Not what you think!" he blurted defensively. "After the meeting... the team went out to unwind, had drinks! She got drunk! Nonsense! Nothing happened—I swear!" "The team?" I seized the word. "Who else?" Choking silence again. "Ethan?" My voice sounded hollow. "Just... key members... most left early..." he fumbled. "So, just you and her in the end?" I finished for him. No answer. Heavy breaths rasped through the receiver like a dying fish.
A Friend's Call
Soon after hanging up, my phone rang. Sophia. I watched the flashing name like a venomous spider until it stopped. It rang again, persistent. I answered. "Lily?" Her voice was unnervingly calm, tinged with fatigue. "Ethan just called. He's... distraught. We need to talk." My coffee sat cold. Outside, the sky brooded. "Talk about what?" I asked. "That text. A misunderstanding. I was blackout drunk, didn't know what I was sending. Ethan just saw me safely to my room.
That's all." Her words flowed fast, rehearsed. "After all these years as friends, don't you trust me? Trust Ethan? He values family above all." She stressed "family." "Lily," her tone softened, intimate yet nauseating. "We're comrades-in-arms. Your home with Ethan is the rear I fight to protect. Don't act rashly, okay?" Comrades-in-arms? Protecting? Her flawless explanation chilled my stomach. The cold coffee mirrored my distorted face.
Trust Shattered
That night, Ethan rushed home early, travel-worn. He tried to hug me, reeking of smoke and strange hotel detergent. I sidestepped. Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand and flooded me with explanations—team gathering, Sophia's drunkenness, him fulfilling partner duty by escorting her back, leaving immediately, the text drunken rambling... He recited Sophia's version like a joint statement. "I swear, Lily!" His eyes pleaded, forehead sweating. "I swear to God—Sophia and I, nothing inappropriate!" "Then why lie about sleeping at the hotel?" I asked.
He faltered. "Why couldn't you name those 'key members'?" I pressed. His gaze darted. "Why would Sophia miss your scent?" My voice wavered. "She was drunk! Mindless babbling!" he growled, cornered. I studied his familiar-yet-alien face. Once reassuring angles now radiated exposed panic. "Ethan," I whispered, light as a feather. "You look more disgusting now than that text did." Color drained from his face. The light in his eyes flickered out.
Shadows at the Office
I became a detective—or a self-flagellating madwoman. Started tracking their schedules. Meetings were easy to check. Once, Ethan claimed a two-day supplier trip to a nearby city. I checked the company's latest notice: Sophia was scheduled to speak at an industry forum there that same day. Too coincidental? Or had their "joint trips" been routine all along? My chest constricted. I searched the forum online—agenda, speakers... Fingers shook scrolling the mouse wheel. Sophia's name stood bold in the speaker list, photo radiant beside hers: Co-founder and CMO of NestIQ.
A voice screamed in my head: Enough, Lily! Stop looking! But my hand disobeyed. I clicked the live photo link. Loading circles spun. A stage shot appeared. Sophia stood spotlighted, poised and elegant. Front-row audience—camera panning—a familiar profile. Ethan. Head tilted up, watching her. That gaze... focused, admiring, almost... proud? Entirely unlike his indifferent "nice" when I wore a new dress. Stomach churning violently, I rushed to the bathroom, gagging over the toilet.
Emma's Question
"Mommy, where's Daddy?" Emma asked without looking up from drawing on her bedroom rug. She'd been asking more often. "Daddy's busy with work," I knelt, gathering scattered crayons. A green one snapped. "Is he living at Aunt Sophia's?" Emma suddenly lifted her head, clear eyes meeting mine. "Aunt Sophia told me that when she picked me up from daycare." Thud—a hammer blow to my temple. Darkness swam.
"Wh-when?" My voice floated unnaturally. "That rainy day," she poked a large blue raindrop on her paper. "All the kids were gone! Aunt Sophia said Daddy was meeting at her house, so she came to get me!" Rainy day? I strained to recall. Was it when Ethan claimed an emergency supplier issue and returned drenched at eleven? On the paper, the blue raindrop bled menacingly.
Resolution to Expose
This couldn't continue. I sat before the vanity. The woman in the mirror was pale, bruised-eyed, hollow. I no longer recognized her—gutted by doubt, pain, and sleeplessness. Was she the decisive marketing director I once was? Living as a joke for a fragile marriage?
No. I picked up my phone; fingers icy. Found Ethan's number, hovered over dial. Trembling. Emma slept soundly next door, breaths soft and even. I inhaled deeply, cold air filling my lungs, and pressed hard.
His Silence
The call connected. Background quiet, unlike the office. "Ethan," I started bluntly. "Emma says Sophia told her you live at Sophia's?" My voice rasped taut. Dead stillness. After agonizing seconds, his ragged breaths came. No denial. No shock. No fury. Only crushing, suffocating silence. That silence screamed the answer, shattering my last fragile hope. "Speak!" My voice slashed cold air. "Admitting it? Ethan! Goddamn it, talk!" "...Lily,"
he croaked, sandpaper-rough. "It's not what you think... Sophia and I..." "Not what I think?" I cut in, words icy. "So what? Pure friendship bloomed into cohabitation? Tell me! What 'not that' makes your daughter think her dad moved in with another woman!" Silence again. Only stifled breathing. "Fine," I nodded to empty air. Tears surged unexpectedly, hot trails down chilled cheeks. "I understand." I hung up. Dial tone—beep, beep, beep—death knell ticking. NEXT >>
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