Chapter 3

GRACE'S POV 

When I left the hospital, the sky had turned gray. It seemed to match my mood. Lovely. 

I half expected it to start raining so I could finally let go and cry my eyes out. 

I stood outside for a long moment, holding the envelope of medical reports against my chest. Maybe if I held it tight enough, it would disappear alongside the illness. It didn't work. 

Eventually, I realised that I probably looked weird as I stood there, outside, unmoving. People probably thought I was a suicide bomber. I drove away from the hospital, praying that the ache in my chest would disappear.

When I reached the house, the sun was already beginning to set. I hadn't realised how much time I had spent in the waiting room at the hospital until then. The living room was dark with the curtains drawn, almost like no one lived there. 

Michael wasn’t home from work yet, so I started thinking about dinner for the both of us. 

I moved through the house slowly, and into the bedroom. I set my bag down on the table before changing into something comfortable. The fatigue had settled deep into my muscles, heavier than the kind that came from work. Everything was weighing down on me. Not to mention the pain from the cancer. 

I decided to just sit still for a bit before diving into anything, so I sat in front of the TV for a while. I wasn't paying attention to the show playing, I barely even registered it. 

By seven, the pain had eased, but the exhaustion remained.

I considered ordering dinner, but once again, I needed to feel in control of something, which in this case is dinner. I cooked something simple, potatoes and veggies, it was nothing heavy. Nothing that could upset my stomach anyway. 

The clock read 8:43 when the front door finally opened. I looked up from my plate of barely eaten food. 

Michael walked in without looking up, loosening his tie as he moved toward the stairs. He looked like he was coming home to an empty house, no one inside. 

“You’re late,” I said gently, using my fork to play with the veggies. If they could, they'd scream at me at the moment.

“Work,” he replied monotonously. Not a nod, a shake of head, or a sigh. Just a robotic answer.

He didn’t ask about my day, he didn’t look at the food on the table.

As he passed me, something caught my attention, or rather the attention of my nose.

A strange scent had wafted into my nose, from his clothes. I'd never smelt such scent before, not on him. I didn't own one of that kind. 

It was Floral, very light, and most importantly, unfamiliar. It was definitely a female perfume. Why was he smelling like a woman? He'd always liked his masculine scents.

I told myself not to overthink it. After all, offices had shared spaces, they had meetings running, elevators contained different kinds of people that sometimes, they had to stand close because of the number. Hell, people had close conversations.

Still, the unease lingered, like a cigarette smell.

“Dinner’s ready,” I said to him. Hopefully, he'd pause and at least look at what I made.

But who said you could just wish and it would come to pass?

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, monotonously again.

He disappeared into the bedroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click. 

I sat alone at the table, staring at the two plates I had set out. Even though I had started eating mine, I'd barely gone through quarter of it. For once, I hoped I could have dinner with my husband, so I could talk to him about my illness. 

After a moment, I put one of the plates away. For a brief second, I imagined it slipping from my hand, landing on the floor, and slicing through my hand when I went to pick it up. I imagined I'd scream and Michael would come bounding down the stairs, concerned and worried. Then, he'd tend to my wound before cleaning the mess up. He'd apologise, and we'd be good. 

But the dish sat in the cupboard laughing at my delusion. 

However, I decided to clean up as fast I could, so I could catch up with him before he went to bed. Maybe if I just said it out loud, really fast, he'd listen to me. 

After I finished, I went to the bedroom, but he was in the shower. I thought it was good that he wasn't asleep just yet, I still had the chance. 

I sat on the edge of the bed, hands put together and placed on my thighs. I tried to recall the last time we'd been intimate. It was months ago, before everything changed.

The buzzing of a phone distracted me. It wasn't mine, I didn't put my phone on silence. 

“Michael? Your phone's buzzing? Someone's probably trying to text you or something.” I yelled.

He didn't reply, or perhaps he just couldn't hear me over the shower. 

I wanted to wait till he came out so he could check by himself, but it kept buzzing, so I decided to check who was texting him. 

I walked towards the phone and picked it up gently. His phone being a sensitive phone lit up at my mere picking it up and that was when I saw it.

Susan: “Did you get home safe?”

My heart skipped. It had to be another Susan, but I knew it wasn't. 

Susan, My best friend, was texting my husband? There had to be an explanation.

The message disappeared before I could think further. I had no clue what his password was, so there was no need trying to figure it out. 

I heard the shower stop, which meant he was coming out of the bathroom.

I quickly and quietly put the phone down before climbing into my side of the bed and laying still. 

There had to be an explanation.

Susan and Michael had known each other for years through me. Maybe she had seen him somewhere earlier. Maybe they had run into each other.

Hopefully, that was all it was.