I came home early and knew something was wrong. The air smelled like citrus wipes and panic. On the dresser—a vase of lilies I never bought. A mug with pink lipstick. Lace underwear in my drawer. Then his voice through the door: “I told you not to come today—she’s home.” Her voice followed, breaking me open. “I’m tired of sneaking around, Ryan. I’m pregnant.” When I whispered, “Don’t lie—I heard everything,” he froze.
That was the day everything I believed in died—in my own bedroom….The faint scent of citrus wipes hit me before…