Chapter 2: The Scent

I leaned against the wall, my chest so tight I could hardly catch my breath. I had no idea how many times they had met like this, or how far things had escalated between them.

But knowing Julian, he wouldn't easily give up on a woman he hadn't yet possessed.

Men are pathetic that way; anything they haven't tasted always seems like the finest delicacy, even if it’s trash.

I was devastated. Just seeing Julian meeting Lydia behind my back was enough to break me, because I knew in that moment that I was likely to lose.

Five years of marriage, in Julian's eyes, probably couldn't outweigh the allure of a woman he had never truly had.

I didn't stay at the bar to watch them. I didn't wait to see if they would hold hands, kiss, embrace, or go to bed together.

I went home.

I told myself: if Julian comes home tonight, I’ll find Lydia and subtly warn her to stay away from my husband.

But if he doesn't come home, I’ll start preparing for a divorce.

When I arrived, my daughter was already asleep under the nanny's care. I slipped into the nursery with quiet steps and knelt by the bed, watching her peaceful face. A bitter taste filled my mouth.

I knew that once Julian crossed that line, I could never take him back.

I didn't care how much of a player he was before we married or who he slept with then. But now, he is my husband. I cannot accept my husband being involved with another woman.

I tucked the covers around Daisy and went back to our master bedroom.

I leaned against the headboard in my pajamas, lacking even the energy to look at my phone. I stared at the door until my vision blurred. Half an hour passed. An hour. Still no Julian.

Finally, I turned off the light and lay down.

I’m not sure how much time had passed when I heard a noise outside. I opened my eyes instinctively, but when the bedroom door creaked open, I squeezed them shut again.

I pretended to be fast asleep.

I sensed Julian heading into the bathroom. The shower started running. It seemed he was washing up.

Julian usually hated showering. We were both from the North, where daily showers weren't a strict habit. Sometimes I had to nag him several times before he’d go, and if he could find an excuse to skip it, he would.

Coming home and showering immediately was highly suspicious.

Had he just slept with Lydia? Was he trying to wash her off him to destroy the evidence?

Once the thought took root, it became impossible to ignore.

About ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom. I shut my eyes tight again. Moments later, the bed dipped as Julian climbed in, and he immediately reached out to wrap his arm around my waist.

The gesture made my skin crawl.

He never initiated hugs. Usually, I had to be the one to shamelessly ask for his arm as a pillow or beg him to hold me before he would even move.

Despite five years of marriage, Julian didn't have much affection for me. To him, I was just a wife—a legal entity, the mother of his daughter, and nothing more.

I used to wonder if that was the reason for his lack of initiative.

But today, that five-year streak of indifference was broken.

Everything about this was wrong.

This abnormality only served to confirm my suspicion: he and Lydia had already committed the act.

I kept my eyes closed, trying to force myself to sleep, but my mind was painfully sharp. Sharp and grieving.

Julian might not have much love for me, but I loved him. Deeply, desperately.

I had spent these years taking care of his every need, giving up the career I loved to stay home and raise our child without a single word of complaint. I even played the fool, pretending I didn't know that every time we made love, he would wait until he thought I was asleep to scroll through photos of Lydia on his phone for hours.

Recalling everything we had been through over the last five years, a stray tear finally escaped the corner of my eye.

When I married him, I never imagined we would end up here.

I barely slept that night.

The next morning, I went into the bathroom. As soon as I entered, I saw the clothes Julian had stripped off and tossed into the hamper. My eyes lingered there for two seconds. Then, I quickly locked the door.

I knelt by the hamper and picked up his undershirt. I saw nothing at first. Refusing to give up, I brought the collar to my nose. There it was—a faint, elegant fragrance. I had never bought a perfume that smelled like that.

It wasn't mine... which meant it belonged to another woman.

I was about to put the shirt back when I accidentally noticed a long strand of hair clinging to his discarded blue underwear.