001

SERAPHINA.

The doctor’s office smelled like disinfectant and old paper. I could see files scattered all over his table. He also had a confused expression on his face.

I had gone there with no intention of digging into anything. I only wanted clarity, something solid to hold on to. Instead, I walked into a truth that shaped my entire life.

“What do you mean my husband was cured eight months ago?” I asked, my voice calm in a way my heart was not. It was pounding rapidly in my chest.

The doctor glanced at the file again, then up at me, confusion still flickering across his face.

“Yes,” he said carefully.

“He responded well to treatment. There has been no medical restriction for eight months now. Is there a problem?”

I swallowed.

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

“No problem at all. My husband told me. I just… thought he might have been lying so I wouldn’t worry. You know how men can be.”

The doctor smiled politely.

“He wasn’t lying. He’s completely fine.”

Fine.

The word echoed in my head long after I left the doctor's office. Fine meant there had been no reason for the distance. No reason for the untouched nights. No reason for the excuses. No reason for the loneliness I had learned to fold into myself like a secret. No reason for the nights I slept alone in our bed while he lay inches away, turned toward the wall like I was something unbearable to face.

No reason for the pillow I pulled against my chest, shaping it into a stand-in for the warmth that was withheld.

After our wedding, I tried gently at first. I had worn silk to bed, cooked his favorite meals, and brushed my body against his when I passed him in the hallway. I had told myself patience was love, that understanding was marriage. He was a well-known lawyer, always busy, always exhausted. I believed him.

Two months passed.

Then three.

Then more.

And still, my husband never touched me.

When the frustration finally became unbearable, when the silence grew heavier than words, he opened up to me. He told me he had erectile dysfunction caused by a heart condition. He said the doctors advised abstinence. He looked ashamed when he said it, and I believed him completely. I wrapped my arms around him that night and told him I would wait for him as long as it took.

I waited.

What I didn’t understand, what no one told me, was that he had already been “cured” for eight months before he ever confessed anything to me.

I went back to work that day, as if nothing had changed. The office buzzed with the usual noise, phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and voices overlapping. A colleague from my department stopped by my desk, leaning against the partition.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I said, raising my head and forcing a smile.

She hesitated, then snapped her fingers.

“Oh! We need to prepare for the new boss. He is taking over today. There is a lot to organize.”

“Yes,” I said, nodding.

“I will get on it.”

As she walked away, voices floated through the air, laughter following them. Someone mentioned Valentine’s Day. February 14th. Lovers’ Day.

Tacha joked loudly about how every married house would be full of moaning tonight. Another laughed and said she planned to exhaust her husband before midnight.

Then my colleague came back, grinning mischievously. “Seraphina,” she said, lowering her voice, “tell me, do you have something special planned for your husband tonight? Any dress that will make him want to eat you alive?”

She touched my arm lightly, but my mind wasn’t there. I blinked at her.

“Are you here?” she asked.

“What?” I said. “Sorry, what did you say?” I shifted my gaze to her.

She repeated herself, laughing. I shook my head.

“No,” I said quietly.

“I don’t.”

She stared at me like I had said something illegal. “No way. That won’t do. We need to fix that.”

I tried to change the subject.

“Weren’t you the one reminding me about the new boss?”

She waved it off.

“Work can wait. Today is Lovers’ Day. You must enjoy it.”

Before I could protest, she had dragged me out of the office. We went from shop to shop. I kept touching clothes, fabrics sliding between my fingers, lace, satin, things that promised confidence I wasn’t sure I had anymore. She insisted I try something bold. With colours.

“This will make him look at you,” she said, yanking at my face.

“Really look.”

I bought it.

That evening, I cooked his favorite meal. I dressed carefully, my hands shaking as I fastened each clasp. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman ready to be loved, a woman who had waited faithfully for over a year and a half. My marriage had been approaching two years, and I had given it everything I had.

I waited for him.

I sighed, shutting my eyes before turning away.

I walked downstairs, grabbed a book, and crossed my legs. However, Minutes turned into hours. My body buzzed with anticipation and confusion. Now that I knew he could finally touch me, the waiting felt unbearable. Every sound from outside made my heart leap. I didn't know what to think. Did he decide not to touch me on purpose?

Then my phone beeped, catching my attention.

“Don’t wait for me. I won’t be coming home tonight. I have to work at the office.” I stared at the message on the screen.

I used to think that it was guilt or shyness that made him not come home sometimes. Perhaps he felt bad because he couldn't satisfy me in bed. Now that I found out he had been cured, I really couldn't understand why he had refused to come home.

I picked up the phone and called him.

The call didn’t go through, straight to voicemail.

I didn’t think so. I walked back up the stairs, changed, and then grabbed my keys and drove to his office.

The building was quiet when I arrived, as expected it was over ten at night. However, the lights in his office were turned on. I parked my car quickly before making my way to his office.

As I walked down the hallway, a sound reached my ears, a man’s voice, strained and breathless. It didn’t sound like my husband, and that should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

I recognized the voice.

It was his partner. The man with whom he co-owned the firm. I moved closer, my steps slow, and my heart pounding. The sound was coming from my husband’s office. I frowned, irritation flashing through me.

How irresponsible, I thought. Bringing someone into my husband’s office and smashing her in his seat. So unofficial. No wonder he has refused to get married.

I turned to leave, deciding I would tell my husband about it later. I know he would probably laugh it off. But then before I could move further, I heard it.

My husband’s name.

Spoken again and again, desperate and unguarded.

Slurred. Voices strained in tones I have never heard.

I froze.

It couldn’t be.

Two men?

The voices didn’t stop. The truth pressed against my chest until breathing began to hurt. My hand reached for the door before my mind could stop it.

I opened the door and then stepped in.

They sprang apart instantly, and shock grew across their faces. His friend and co-worker, as I thought, had been pressed against the wall. The other stood frozen, exposed in a way I had never seen him before.

I screamed my husband’s name. Victor!

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, anger rising faster than shame or guilt.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t coming home?”

That was what he said.

That.

Lies. He was lying again.

I laughed, a broken sound tearing out of me.

I had never thought a day would come when I would witness my husband in this position.

“What do you say after this?”

I stepped inside further, my legs trembling and shame taking over.

“I saw the doctor today,” I said.

“He told me you have been cured for eight months. Eight months and you never touched me.”

I gestured between them.

“Now I understand why.”

His partner, Gideon spoke before he could.

“He isn’t cheating on you with me,” he said coldly, his face morphing with irritation.

“We have been together long before you ever knew him. He cheated on me with you.”

The room spun.

“What?” I whispered.

“What don’t I get?”

Victor sighed but before he could speak, Gideon stepped forward.

“He needed a woman to cover up the truth. Victor wouldn't have credibility with his clients without the proof of keeping a home. We couldn't come out as gay, so you had to come into the picture as his wife. Moreover, you were practically begging for marriage.” Gideon waved his hands in the air dismissively, looking away from me with irritation. My gaze shifted to Victor.

He rubbed his temple and shut his eyes like I was some exhausting piece of work. Delusional me thought he was going to rebuke Gideon for speaking to me like that.

But he didn't.

What was I expecting that he would choose me over his lover?

Oh god, I quickly felt a sense of chagrin.

I looked at my husband, at the man I had waited for, prayed for, starved for. I waited in pain for this man. Pain!

“Are you… gay?”

The silence that followed was louder than any answer. I knew the answer but I just wanted to hear it from him. Perhaps I wanted him to lie. Tell me this was all a joke, that his partner is lying and he was merely performing.