Chapter 0004: Shadows of Doubt

As we drove home, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The timeline didn't add up. The evidence was mounting, and I couldn't ignore it any longer. My hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles white with tension.

“Mom, are you okay?” My son asked, his voice full of concern.

I glanced at him in the rearview mirror and forced a reassuring smile. “I'm fine, sweetheart. Just has a lot on my mind.”

The rest of the drive was silent, my thought, too loud to leave room for conversation. The moment we arrived home, I went straight to prepare dinner after changing my outfit.

I stood at the kitchen counter, chopping onions for dinner. My eyes stung from the sharp, pungent aroma, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't stop glancing at the wall clock that's inside the kitchen. It was already 7:28 pm, and my husband still wasn't at home.

My stomach churned with a mix of anger, sadness, and betrayal. I felt a tear slip down my cheeks, and I quickly wiped it away, not wanting my son to see me like this.

“Mom?” William’s voice broke through spiraling thoughts.

I turned to see him sitting next to the dining room, where he was drawing the design he wanted for his dad's birthday. “Yes sweetheart? Are you done drawing?” I took a deep breath, pushing my emotions down.

I walked over to the table, trying to compose myself. Standing next to him, I glanced at the table as he spread out the cardboard he designed for me to choose from.

“Take a look. Which one do you like best?” I stand, robbing my right hand on my chick. “Are they all not good?” He asked, concerns in his voice.

I pointed to the one at the center of the table with the big red love design. “I think this one will do.”

“We really do think alike. I also like that one the best,” he said, smiling up at me.

I pick out my phone to snap it and send it to the cakerice. “Your dad will be really happy once he finds out that you drew this.” His eyes lit up with excitement.

Suddenly, we hear the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking. William’s eyes widened, and without a beat, he began to gather up his designs, hastily cleaning the table.

“Dad's here!” He exclaimed, his voice a mic of excitement and urgency.

I watched him, a pang of sadness gripping my heart. He adored his father, and I hated that the joy of his return was now tainted by my own suspicions and doubts.

The door swung open, and my husband walked in, looking tired but smiling as he saw us. “William!” He called out, dropping his keys on the counter.

He inserted his hand into the bag he was holding. “I heard some nice wine came in, so I got one on my way home. It's a limited edition,” he said, placing it on the counter.

“You're late,” I said, forcing a smile because I can't put aside my curiosity over him.

“I'm not that late,” he paused, looking at the wall clock. “I always come home at this hour.”

“Exactly,” I moved back to pour the onions on the meal.

“Did I do something?” He faced William, throwing the question on him, but I could see a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe? Or was I just protecting my fears onto him?

“Hey, buddy,” he said, ruffling his hair affectionately before looking up at me.

“William, go upstairs and do your homework,” I said from the counter.

“Why? He needs to eat dinner.”

“The short ribs need to cook a bit longer. I'll call you once it's done,” I said, covering the pot.

“Okay,” he nodded, parking up his things on the table.

“My goodness, are you making braised short ribs?” He asked, uncovering the pot, using the spoon to pick a slice of meat.

“I ran into Elena on my way home.”

“Who?” He asked, his face a mask of confusion.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I searched his eyes for any sign of deceit, but they were unreadable.

“What... didn't I tell you? I thought I told you,” he picked off the meat from the spoon. “Gosh, it's hot.”

I tried to prevent the stew from falling on the counter with an unbreakable. “Did she also go on that business trip?” I asked, staring at him.

“Of course. She used to work as an assistant director, and she's very good at her job,” a slice of the meat falls off the counter as he continues. “The investors were really fussy about all sorts of things. We spent hours holding a briefing in the hotel room.”

I went to get some tissues as I began to clean the table. The tissues absorbed the greasy residue of the short ribs, and I methodically wiped away each spot, focusing on the task to keep my emotions in check.

“This tastes amazing,” my husband said, his voice deep enough to break the deep silence.

I smiled, not meeting his eyes. I could feel his gaze on me, searching, maybe even questioning, but I kept my focus on the table.

As I finished cleaning, I finally looked up. His face was tired, but there was something else—an unease that mirrored my own. “Did you guys drink?”

“I had a hard time trying to brighten up the mood,” he said, his voice cool.

“Did Elena drink as well?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He nodded. “Yes, a little,” moving towards the wine. “Should I pour the wine?”

I bite my lip, debating whether to bring up my suspicions now. But before I could make a move, our son burst into the room.

I swallowed my words, the moment slipping away. I forced a smile, watching them interact, feeling a pang of sadness and frustration. This wasn't the right time. But soon, I would have to confront him. I couldn't keep living with this doubt.

I walked into the bedroom; my head tie and jacket were strewn across the bed, a testament to my rushed state earlier. I reached to grab them, but something on the nightstand caught my eye—my husband's phone, plugged in and charging.