“Zay,” I whisper. “Be honest with me. Are you cheating on me?” The words hang in the air. I’m hanging on by a thread, waiting for an answer.
His eyes flicker to me, his jaw set hard. “Are you fucking serious, Violet? This again?”
“You smell like a woman’s perfume.”
“I went out with the guys. We went to a bar. Obviously, there were woman there.” His fists clench down by his sides.
“A woman’s perfume wouldn’t stick to you like that if you were only around them.”
“I’m not cheating on you,” he yells. He pulls his shirt off and throws it on the floor.
“Tell me the truth.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I never thought I would be in a position like this, begging for the truth. He’s never acted this way toward me. If something bothered one of us, we would talk it out. He was never short with me or yelled at me like this.
“I’m not cheating on you. Do you have proof?” He narrows his gaze at me. “Beside the smell of my shirt.”
“It’s a gut feeling.”
He huffs out a small laugh. “A gut feeling. Isn’t your healthy food”—he says with air quotes—“supposed to be good for your gut?” he asks.
My brows knit together in question of where he is going with this. “What does eating healthy have to do with this?”
“Because all your healthy food that is supposed to be good for you gut isn’t doing shit but making you think I’m cheating on you.”
I know what I feel, and I know what I see. It’s a coldness I can’t ignore. I want to believe him, but his actions make it harder to trust him.
“You’re really gonna act like nothing’s wrong?” I ask, my voice above a whisper. “I can feel it, Zay. You’ve changed. You’re not the same.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not doing this right now.” He walks out of our room.
The moment the door slams shut, I spring off the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Without thinking, I pick up his shirt from the floor and bring it up to my nose, inhaling deep. The scent is familiar. There’s something about it, something that I’ve smelled before, but I can’t place it. I lay the shirt down on the bed, inspecting it closer, looking for any trace of another woman. But there’s nothing. Only lint.
My mind races. I bring the shirt back to my nose, trying to focus, trying to pull the memory of where I’ve smelled this scent before. Is he right? Is it my perfume?
My fingers shake as I hold the shirt, smelling all around it. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t place it. The more I think about it, the more frustrated I become.
The bedroom door opens back up. Zay storms into our closet. I drop the shirt on the bed. I stand here frozen, wondering what he is doing or what my next move should be, or even what to say. I’m speechless. My head pounds from the lack of sleep and now all this.
He comes storming back into our room, tossing something onto the bed. “Smell this.”
I look across the room between him and the bed. My green Valentino perfume lies on the bed. I reach for it, open the cap and smell it. The questionable scent hits me. I spray a spritz of the perfume onto my pajamas. I go back and forth, smelling the scent on his shirt and my pajamas. The warm floral scent smells almost identical. My pajamas smell stronger because I just sprayed it. My stomach sinks in guilt.
It is mine.
All week, Zayn hasn’t said a word to me. I never said sorry because, deep down, I still have a gut feeling something is off. Even if he’s not cheating physically, maybe it’s emotionally. Maybe not even cheating at all. I go back and forth every minute of the day, thinking about what it could be. Sometimes, I think he grew apart from me and doesn’t love me anymore.
I’ve changed in ways that he wasn’t all for. But change is good. I’m glad I’ve changed. It’s for the better. Not only for me, but for our marriage and future. I’m glad I’m not the twenty-something-year-old still drinking my weekends away. Barely surviving at work during the week only to do it all over again once Friday hits.
I built a business to better myself and our future. He’s been at the same job since high school. Nothing is wrong with that. He has worked himself up. Sometimes I question if he stays because he’s comfortable. Even when we bought a house, I had to beg him too. He didn’t even want to be on the mortgage, so I left him off because I didn’t want this house to pass us by.
He’s comfortable never growing. It affected us a little, especially in the beginning. But I felt as if we worked around it.Everything has felt fine until recently. Has he not been fine this whole time and has said nothing?
I let out a sigh as I pull into Haley’s driveway. My number one customer, who always has something going on. What’s she up to now? I grab the platter of cookies out of the back seat. I squint my eyes from the sun as I walk up to the front door. I press the doorbell with my elbow, trying to be careful not to drop the platter.
The door swings open, and Haley stands with a big smile on her face. “Hi. Come in.” She opens the door wider for me to step in.
“Is the kitchen fine?” I say over my shoulder.
“Yes.”
