Chapter 3: The Scent of Betrayal

Shirley’s POV:

"Mommy, mommy, I'm so hungry."

The sound of Abby's sweet voice pierced through the fog of my exhausted mind, dragging me back to reality. I opened my eyes, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. My head throbbed, the weight of last night's thoughts still pressing down on me. Had I even slept? Or had I just drifted in and out of restless thoughts, staring at the ceiling in the dark, unable to escape the images of Steven with her?

Abby stood at the edge of the bed, her little face crinkled in concern. Her big, brown eyes were wide, full of innocence, and it was almost impossible to stay lost in my own pain when she was looking at me like that.

"Morning, baby," I said, my voice hoarse from the emotional rollercoaster I'd been on. "Are you hungry? Mommy will make you breakfast."

She nodded eagerly, and I smiled at her, despite the storm brewing inside me.

We walked hand in hand to the kitchen. The moment I set foot in the familiar space, the smell of fresh coffee and toast made me feel momentarily at ease. It was a small comfort, a ritual that felt like home.

As I cracked eggs into the frying pan, Abby perched on one of the kitchen chairs, swinging her legs, her little voice bubbling up as she chatted about school and her friends. It was like a balm to my soul to hear her talk—so simple, so pure.

"Mommy, do you think my drawing will win the prize at school today?" she asked, her tiny hands playing with the corners of her napkin.

I turned to smile at her. "Of course, sweetheart. You're the best artist in the world."

She beamed, and for a moment, everything seemed normal again.

After getting Abby off to school, I felt the weight of the day's uncertainty crash down on me. It was like every step I took brought me closer to a truth I wasn't sure I was ready to face.

And then, the message came.

Steven.

I stared at my phone screen as his name lit up.

My heart skipped a beat.

"I have to go on a business trip for the next few days. It's urgent, so I won't have time to come home for clothes. Can you bring me some?"

I exhaled sharply. Another business trip? How many times had he done this before? How many times had I just accepted it without question, without a second thought?

I grabbed a few of his shirts and pants, the ones I knew he'd wear the most. There was a knot in my stomach as I drove to his office. Every mile I put between me and the house felt like another step toward the truth, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to find it.

When I arrived at his office, I was met with an unfamiliar face. A receptionist, a woman in her late twenties, stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she glanced at the clothes in my hands.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone professional but distant.

"I'm Steven's wife," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm just here to drop off some clothes for him. He's expecting me."

The receptionist hesitated for a moment before glancing over her shoulder, then picking up the phone. "One moment."

I waited, tapping my fingers nervously against the fabric of Steven's shirts. I had no idea who this woman was, but something about her made me feel... uneasy.

Then, the door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was striking—tall, with sleek black hair and a polished, confident air about her. Her smile was warm, but there was something too practiced about it.

"You must be Steven's wife," she said, offering me a pleasant, yet slightly cold handshake. "I'm his new secretary. He's in a meeting right now, but if you could just leave the clothes with me, I'll make sure he gets them."

I blinked in surprise. New secretary?

"Um, okay," I said, not sure what else to say. "He's in a meeting? I didn't know... I thought he'd be free for a few minutes."

The woman just smiled. "He's quite busy, I'm afraid. But don't worry, I'll take care of it for you."

She took the clothes from my hands, her fingers brushing mine for a brief moment. Something about the way she touched them felt... off. As if she was already too familiar with them. She turned, walking back into the office, and I caught a faint whiff of her perfume—a rich, floral scent that felt strangely familiar.

Wait. This scent... I know it.

The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. It was the same perfume I had smelled on Steven's shirts just a few weeks ago. The same perfume he had worn... that night. The night I had found the message from Jason.

My stomach twisted. No. It can't be.

I didn't know who this woman was, but I knew one thing for sure: something wasn't right.

When I got home, I tried to focus on the tasks at hand—laundry, cleaning, and the little things that helped me avoid facing the truth. But as I picked up Steven's shirt to wash it, I caught the scent again. The perfume. The same perfume that had lingered in the air around her.

It was on his shirt.

It's real.

I set the shirt down, my hands trembling. I couldn't breathe.

All I could do was stare at the scent on the fabric, at the overwhelming evidence in front of me.

The truth had never been clearer, and it had never hurt more.