For weeks after that morning in the kitchen, Albert never came home late again.
Everything returned to normal—so normal that it almost felt intentional. There were no suspicious phone calls, no guarded glances, no unexplained absences. He was home early most evenings, relaxed, present. We ate dinner together, laughed together, went out on weekends like we always had. He held my hand in public, kissed my cheek when he passed by, and asked about my day with genuine interest.
I was loving it.
Slowly, steadily, my confidence returned. The knot of anxiety that had lived in my chest loosened. I stopped replaying old conversations in my head. I stopped wondering what he was thinking when he stared into space. I stopped bracing myself for disappointment.
I told myself I had imagined the danger.
Marriage, after all, wasn't meant to be lived in fear. It was meant to be trusted.
And so, I moved on.
By the time October arrived, the days had grown gentler. The evenings carried a soft chill, and the air felt lighter somehow—like the world was offering me reassurance. On one of those beautiful October evenings, I decided to stock up the house with groceries. We had run low on essentials, and I wanted to surprise Albert with a well-organized kitchen and a special home-cooked meal.
I dressed simply yet elegantly—a fitted blouse, jeans, and flats. Nothing too flashy. Nothing careless. Just comfortable confidence. I grabbed my keys, stepped into my car, and drove off, letting cool music fill the space around me. I hummed softly along, feeling calm. Grounded.
At the supermarket, I parked carefully and walked in with ease—almost a catwalk stride, fueled by renewed self-assurance. I grabbed a cart and began shopping methodically, picking up everything we needed. Rice. Pasta. Spices. Cleaning supplies. Snacks Albert liked but pretended not to.
Then I headed toward the fruit section.
I was pushing my cart absentmindedly when I noticed a familiar figure ahead of me.
From behind, it was impossible not to recognize her.
Toned curves. Wide hips. Straight legs that seemed to move with practiced grace. She was holding a bunch of ripe, succulent bananas, examining them carefully as though choosing with intention.
My chest tightened.
I swallowed hard.
She turned.
And there it was—no doubt about it.
June.
For a second, I froze. Then I forced myself to breathe and look away, pretending I hadn't noticed her. I reached for strawberries, then apples. Grapes. Oranges. My movements felt slow, mechanical. My mind lagged behind my body.
Albert loved bananas.
I was supposed to get bananas.
But seeing her holding them—choosing them—stirred something uncomfortable inside me.
Then I heard her voice.
"Won't you get bananas as well?" she said lightly. "Albert loves them a lot."
She laughed—a short, deliberate sound.
I turned toward her despite myself and caught the smirk on her lips.
"Does he?" I asked.
The words escaped before I could stop them.
I regretted it instantly.
"That's a dumb question," she replied smoothly. "Aren't you married to him?"
She smiled again—slow, knowing.
"Never mind," she added. "I'll get them instead."
She placed two full bunches into her cart.
As she turned to leave, she leaned in slightly and lowered her voice.
"You can play the wife all you want," she whispered, "as long as he comes to me whenever I want, I'm cool. I need the money too."
She shook her head softly, mock pity in her eyes.
"I don't think you know what Albert wants," she continued. "You're just a boring, beautiful wife. I don't envy you."
She ended with a wink—sharp, deliberate—and strode away more elegantly than I remembered.
The aisle seemed to tilt.
My head spun. My hands shook as I reached for bananas and dropped them into my cart. Her words pierced something deep inside me, and fear rushed down my throat like ice water.
Why do I feel this way whenever I meet her?
Why do I feel overpowered?
Intimidated?
Overshadowed?
I cursed softly under my breath.
I wandered the aisles pretending to need more things—anything—to give her time to pay and leave. When I was sure she was gone, I checked out quickly and drove home, my earlier confidence completely deflated.
I tried to shove her words aside.
She was desperate. She had lost. That was obvious.
At home, I set the groceries down and reached for my phone.
I called Albert.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Hi, beautiful," he said softly, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"How are you doing today?" he asked.
"I'm fine, baby," I replied, forcing cheer into my tone.
"What has my princess been up to all day?" he asked again.
"I wrapped up work and decided to do some shopping," I said lightly. "I'll be making something special tonight."
There was silence.
For a few seconds too long.
"Babe?" I called.
"About that," he said slowly. "I wanted to tell you—I'll be late for dinner tonight."
My heart sank.
"T-tonight?" I asked.
"Yes, babe. There's a company night out. You know I can't say no as the general manager."
"Is it for all employees?" I asked carefully.
"Yes. Everyone."
I fought the urge to mention June. To tell him about the supermarket. To ask where he was at that moment—it was already past work hours.
"Can you not go?" I asked, my voice betraying me.
"It's fine, babe," he said gently. "It's just a night out. Nothing serious. I'll be back before you know it."
"I love you," he added.
Then he hung up.
I stared at my phone.
I knew June would be there.
But something else gnawed at me.
Was there really going to be a night out?
I hated the restlessness.
I hated the fear.
I hated the suspicion.
I tried to wave it off.
Maybe I was being too emotional. Too insecure. Too paranoid.
Albert loved me. He had proven it time and time again.
"I'll be fine," I whispered to myself as I walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water.
But even as I drank, my hands trembled.
Because peace that comes too easily often hides a storm.
And I could feel one gathering.