Just as I expected, uneasiness washed over me the moment the call ended.
The house felt too quiet—too still. Albert hadn't come home before leaving for the company night out. He had gone straight from the office, his voice calm over the phone, his reassurance smooth enough to almost convince me.
Almost.
I stood in the middle of the living room for a long moment, my phone still in my hand, staring at the dark screen as if it might light up again and undo everything I was feeling. The silence pressed against my ears. It was the kind of silence that made your thoughts louder.
I tried to focus. Tried to act normal.
I went into the kitchen and pulled out ingredients, intending to cook the special dinner I had promised him. But my hands trembled slightly, and after a few minutes of staring blankly at the counter, I gave up. I wasn't hungry anymore.
I settled for snacks and a glass of juice, nibbling without taste. My eyes kept drifting to the wall clock hanging boldly above the television. Each tick sounded louder than the last, as if time itself was mocking me.
I glanced at my phone. Again. And again.
No message.
I didn't want to rush my thoughts. I didn't want to jump to conclusions. More than anything, I didn't want to accuse Albert wrongly. He had done nothing—nothing concrete—to deserve my suspicion.
Still, my chest felt tight.
I turned on the television, hoping to drown out my thoughts with noise. The screen flickered with images, voices overlapping, but everything blurred together. I couldn't follow the plot. My mind refused to stay present.
I switched it off.
I picked up a book I had been reading for weeks, flipping through pages I barely registered. The words swam before my eyes. I closed it.
I even tried singing softly to myself—an old habit from my single days—but my voice sounded foreign, strained.
Nothing worked.
Eventually, I sank into the couch, curling my legs beneath me. What else could I do? Albert hadn't mentioned the restaurant or hotel where the night out was happening. If he had, maybe I could have stopped by—just briefly. Not to spy. Just to reassure myself.
The thought came too late.
I didn't want to call the office either. That felt wrong. Desperate. Like a woman who didn't trust her husband.
I wanted to appear composed. Secure. In control.
The irony didn't escape me.
Restlessness slowly gave way to exhaustion, and before I realized it, sleep claimed me—uneasy, shallow, restless.
I woke up to my phone vibrating nonstop.
My heart jumped as I jolted upright, wiping my face with my palm. The room was dark. Disoriented, I squinted at my phone.
Albert.
I checked the time.
4:00 a.m.
I answered immediately.
"I've been knocking on the door," his voice said, impatient, sharp.
The fog cleared instantly.
I rushed to the door, fumbling with the lock. The moment I opened it, Albert strode past me without a word, his movements stiff, purposeful. He didn't look at me. Didn't touch me.
He went straight to the bedroom.
I locked the door behind us and followed him, my pulse pounding.
"This is unacceptable, Albert," I said, keeping my voice low but firm. "It's four in the morning."
"I told you where I was, Susan," he replied, pulling off his jacket. "Let's not feed your insecurity this morning."
The word hit me like a slap.
Insecurity.
Albert had never spoken to me like that.
I froze.
"Insecurity?" I whispered.
He stopped then, as if realizing how harsh it sounded. He turned toward me, his expression softening slightly.
"I'm sorry, babe," he began.
But I wasn't listening anymore.
My eyes had caught something.
A faint smear on his white singlet.
My heart thudded.
I stepped closer instinctively, reaching out to touch it—and that was when he noticed.
He moved back immediately.
"That's food," he said quickly. "I probably got stained when I took my shirt off at the party."
The explanation sounded rehearsed.
I nodded slowly. What else could I say?
"Oh," I murmured.
Then another detail struck me.
"I didn't realize you changed your perfume," I added quietly.
He paused mid-step.
"I didn't," he replied after a second. "I was around a lot of people tonight."
His tone was controlled, almost too controlled.
He walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
The sound of running water filled the room.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breathing, forcing my thoughts into order.
You're imagining things, I told myself.
Just when I began to convince myself that everything was fine, his phone chimed.
The sound echoed loudly in the quiet room.
My eyes dropped to the screen.
June.
Hope you got home safe? I miss you.
That was all.
Yet it felt like a thousand words.
My chest tightened painfully.
It proved nothing. Absolutely nothing. She was a colleague. She had been at the night out. It was normal.
But the words wouldn't stop echoing in my mind.
I miss you.
I was still staring at the phone when Albert came out of the bathroom. He saw my expression, followed my gaze, and quickly picked up the phone.
His face changed.
"Susan, it's nothing," he said immediately. "She's probably just being nice."
"Is that what it really is, Albert?" I asked calmly, though my voice shook inside.
"Yes, babe. That's all. You can trust me."
You can trust me.
The words bounced around my head, hollow and uncertain.
"I don't feel that way anymore," I thought silently.
"She was at the supermarket yesterday," I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "She told me you liked bananas. She said being your wife didn't matter to her—as long as you showed up whenever she wanted."
My voice cracked.
"I'm scared, Albert," I admitted. "I've been trying to fight this fear. This unease. But it won't go away."
Tears slid down my face.
Albert moved toward me and pulled me into his arms.
"June is just trying to get to you," he said soothingly. "She doesn't mean those things. She's probably still angry."
He paused, then added, "She's in a serious relationship now, Susan. She doesn't have time for anything else."
I looked up at him.
"Don't let her words bother you," he continued. "I love you. I would never hurt you."
I clung to him, sobbing softly.
"I trust you," I whispered. "That's why I'm scared. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to cry."
He held me tighter, murmuring reassurances until my breathing slowed.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed me again.
I fell asleep in his arms.
Unaware that trust, once cracked, never returns the same.