"She Understands Me Better"
He grew busier. Came home later and later. Always smelling of coffee and takeout. And... a faint, distinctive perfume note—cool and woody, like cedarwood. Not Sophia's usual sweet floral scent. I was sure of it. A woman's sense of smell becomes radar in such times. "Lately... you and Sophia seem to be working late a lot?" I asked casually one evening, fingering the collar of his discarded shirt.
He was loosening his tie and paused. "Yeah, the product's nearing internal testing—a critical phase. Sophia's marketing campaign has to sync up. She's quick, keeps pace. You know, some ideas..." He trailed off, weighing his words. "It's more efficient discussing them with her." "Ah..." I let go of the collar, the fabric slipping through my fingers. "Efficient communication. That's good." He grabbed pajamas and headed for the shower. The rush of water drowned out the unspoken words that choked me like steam fogging the mirror: What about me?
Cracks Begin to Show
I started losing sleep. Tossing and turning. The mattress sighed softly. In the darkness, Ethan's steady breathing beside me sounded like sinking into a deep lake. I lay awake, staring at the vague outline of the air vent on the ceiling.
My mind replayed scenes like a film reel: Sophia and me crammed into boutique fitting rooms, her bright laughter in the mirror; Ethan clumsily holding my hand for the first time, palms sweating; the intense, synchronized looks they shared debating at the whiteboard; and that elusive cedarwood scent... My chest felt stuffed with waterlogged cotton—cold, heavy, sinking. I turned gently, back to him. His arm drifted over unconsciously, warm against my waist. For a moment, I almost flinched away.
NEXT >>
He grew busier. Came home later and later. Always smelling of coffee and takeout. And... a faint, distinctive perfume note—cool and woody, like cedarwood. Not Sophia's usual sweet floral scent. I was sure of it. A woman's sense of smell becomes radar in such times. "Lately... you and Sophia seem to be working late a lot?" I asked casually one evening, fingering the collar of his discarded shirt.
He was loosening his tie and paused. "Yeah, the product's nearing internal testing—a critical phase. Sophia's marketing campaign has to sync up. She's quick, keeps pace. You know, some ideas..." He trailed off, weighing his words. "It's more efficient discussing them with her." "Ah..." I let go of the collar, the fabric slipping through my fingers. "Efficient communication. That's good." He grabbed pajamas and headed for the shower. The rush of water drowned out the unspoken words that choked me like steam fogging the mirror: What about me?
Cracks Begin to Show
I started losing sleep. Tossing and turning. The mattress sighed softly. In the darkness, Ethan's steady breathing beside me sounded like sinking into a deep lake. I lay awake, staring at the vague outline of the air vent on the ceiling.
My mind replayed scenes like a film reel: Sophia and me crammed into boutique fitting rooms, her bright laughter in the mirror; Ethan clumsily holding my hand for the first time, palms sweating; the intense, synchronized looks they shared debating at the whiteboard; and that elusive cedarwood scent... My chest felt stuffed with waterlogged cotton—cold, heavy, sinking. I turned gently, back to him. His arm drifted over unconsciously, warm against my waist. For a moment, I almost flinched away.
NEXT >>
Comments