The Wife Who Returned
A sound that made my blood run cold.
A woman's laugh. Breathy. Intimate.
Then Adrian's voice: "Shh. She's probably still asleep."
No.
No, he wouldn't. Not here. Not in our apartment.
But I already knew he would. Because I'd seen this before. In my first life, in a different place, but the same scene. The same betrayal.
I stood slowly, silently. Crept to the balcony door, which I'd left cracked open.
And looked inside.
They were in the living room. Maribel was bent over the arm of the couch, her leggings pulled down to her thighs. Adrian was behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other squeezing her breast, his face twisted in pleasure.