Last night.
Georgi had come home almost at midnight the night before.
He had told me he was at a business meeting.
Suddenly, I remembered something I had ignored.
There had been a strange perfume on his shirt.
A sweet, heavy scent I didn’t recognize.
At that exact moment, the bathroom door opened.
I stepped away from the phone.
Georgi walked into the kitchen.
He looked at me.
I still don’t know where I found the strength to smile.
“Yes,” I said.
He picked up his phone.
Opened the message.
I watched his expression change for only a fraction of a second.
He typed something quickly.
Then deleted the message.
And that was when I realized something.
I didn’t want to ask him questions anymore.
I wanted to see the truth with my own eyes.
Two days later, Georgi dressed more carefully than usual.
He wore one of his best shirts.
He put on cologne he hadn’t used in months.
He spent extra time fixing his hair.
I stood in the bedroom doorway and watched him.
He didn’t even turn around.
“I have a meeting with a client,” he said.
“Of course,” I replied.
He kissed my forehead and left.
