Page 82 of The Bad Husband

What does my intuition tell me?

If he’s part of some game, he surely lost it when we were in that room.

I can’t imagine someone can do what he did to me as part of a plot to compel me to do what exactly?

Everything he said rang true.

Even what he said in the end had the zing of truth.

She’s bluffing then?

She must be.

Isn’t she afraid that he might find out that she came into my room and left this note? There’s only one way to find out what he thinks about it.

I need to ask him.

I rise and move to the door.

A moment later, the door is slightly open, and the faint echo of a dialogue reaches my ears.

They’re having a conversation. It’s nothing passionate. Not an argument.

They’re talking about his business.

His voice becomes clearer as he walks out of his bedroom. She follows him. Neither of them looks my way. They walk toward the stairs.

Maybe they’re leaving.

How could I slip this note to him?

An idea pops into my head.

I spin around, enter my walk-in closet, and try to find my pajamas.

Then I change my mind and storm out. I need to catch up with them and hand him this message.

Wearing my club dress and heels, I rush down the corridor.

Luckily, they’re still in the house.

Their voices float in the air, coming from the kitchen.

“It won’t happen,” he says, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I stop by the kitchen door and listen.

“You just have to be careful,” she says.

It’s interesting how mellow her voice is.

If I didn’t know anything about their relationship, I’d think they were just another normal couple.

Realizing it’d look weird to pop in after a few moments of prolonged silence, I clear my throat and click my heels against the marble floor before walking in.

“Oh. You two are home,” I say with a fake smile, and turn left to the big refrigerator graced by the sharp edge of their stares.

I miss the chance of making eye contact with him, and I can’t glance at her for fear of giving myself away.