I was leaving on a business trip when the airline announced the cancellation.
Weather. Mechanical issue. No clear answers. Annoyed but relieved, I took a cab home, thinking I’d surprise my husband, Ethan. We hadn’t had much time together lately. A quiet night sounded perfect.
I unlocked the door.
A woman stood in the hallway wearing my robe.
She looked relaxed, hair damp, holding a mug from our kitchen. She smiled politely, like I was the one intruding.
“Oh,” she said. “You must be the realtor, right? My husband said you’d come to evaluate our apartment.”
My stomach dropped, but my face didn’t move.
“Yes,” I heard myself say. “That’s me.”
She stepped aside without suspicion. “Great. He’s in the shower. Feel free to look around.”
I walked in slowly, my heart hammering so hard I worried she’d hear it. Everything looked… lived in. Shoes by the couch that weren’t mine. A second toothbrush in the holder. Fresh flowers on the table—flowers Ethan had never once bought for me.
“Nice place,” I said, forcing a professional tone.
“Thank you,” she replied warmly. “We just moved in together a few months ago.”
Together.
I nodded, pretending to inspect the living room while my mind raced. If I confronted her now, she’d scream. If I called Ethan out, he’d lie. I needed to know how far this went.
“So,” I asked casually, “how long have you two been married?”
She laughed. “Married? No, but we’re engaged. The ring’s being resized.”
The hallway spun.
She led me toward the bedroom, chatting about renovation plans. On the dresser sat a framed photo—Ethan and her at the beach. Dated last summer. That was when he’d told me he was on a work retreat.
The bathroom door opened. Steam poured out.
