I woke up with a hazy head and a blurred dream I couldn't quite remember. My mind felt heavy, like it had forgotten something it wasn't ready to face. Still, I pushed the fog aside and greeted my wife like everything was normal, like she hadn't just last night been humped by Ray like a dog in heat.
"Good morning," I said, casually.
She looked at me with that same gentle face, but behind her smile… there was guilt. Her "good morning" came soft, sweet, and slightly delayed. I didn't press her. I didn't want to look too deep into it, not yet.
I got up, freshened myself, and sat down at the table for breakfast. That's when I noticed. Perfectly cooked eggs, buttered toast just the way I liked it, even my favorite spiced potatoes and also my favourite smoothie. It wasn't just a normal breakfast. It was my breakfast. The kind she only made when something was special.
I chuckled and asked, "What's up with all this? Is it my birthday or something?"
There was a small pause before she replied. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Today's your free day, so I thought it should start with your favourite breakfast."
Ah. That's right. Sunday. No office, no reports, no deadlines. But my head was still throbbing—not because of work, but for some different reason. I tried to brush it off and took a bite. It was delicious, exactly as I liked it.
But then I glanced up at her face—so beautiful, sitting there across the table.
Suddenly, like a switch being flipped in my head, like someone had turned on a projector inside my skull, the image from last night came crashing back.
A flash from last night. Her face twisted in ecstasy, her eyes closed, her fingers digging into the mat, hair covering her face while Ray ground into her from behind. That image hit me like a knife.
The food in my mouth suddenly lost all taste. The warmth in my chest turned cold. My beautiful wife, this woman sitting in front of me so sweetly—had shown me a face I didn't know she had. That image wouldn't leave me. And worse… there was a shameful under my pants, a disgusting reaction I hated myself for. Why did my body react like that?
I forced myself to finish eating, then moved to the living room to watch TV. It was Sunday, after all, and I tried to treat it like any other weekend. But my mind wouldn't stay still. I kept trying to push last night's images down, to suppress the thoughts crawling up from that dark place inside me. But it wasn't easy. I was walking a path I never even knew existed, a place full of doubt, shame, and something else I couldn't name.
A while later, she came into the room and let me know she was heading to the old man's house again.
I simply nodded.
Once she left, I caught myself counting on my fingers. How many days had it been? It was just for one week, right? After counting, I realized, today was the sixth day. Just one more to go. One more day, and it would all be over. Or so I hoped.
I sighed and checked my phone, hoping to distract myself. A new message blinked on the screen. It was from Ray.
"Had a great time yesterday. Hope we can hang out again soon."
I stared at the message, disturbed. Was he mocking me? Or did he actually think nothing about his actions was wrong? Was it all just… normal to him? Like some casual weekend activity? Was it not normal for him to grope and grind on another man's wife like that, right in front of him?
I gritted my teeth. Like hell I'd bring my wife near him again. That wasn't happening. Not ever.
After a while, I got up and walked to my workroom. I stood by the window, hands in my pockets. I had promised myself I wouldn't go there again, that I wouldn't peek, wouldn't doubt. I had told her I trusted her.
But all those talks about trust were shattering now. My thoughts, my beliefs, my pride, they were breaking apart, piece by piece. And before I realized it, I found myself at the window again, my eyes scanning for any glimpse of her.
I saw her. A few times. She was inside the house. But then I noticed something else. The old man. He kept moving. Again and again. Always walking in the direction where she was headed. Back and forth. Pacing.
What the hell was he doing?
My chest tightened. My throat felt dry. Something about the way he was moving made me anxious, like he was waiting for something, or someone.
Doubt crept in. I didn't want to feel it, but I did. I began questioning everything. My wife. The old man. Myself. Was I paranoid? Or was I seeing something real?
I wanted peace of mind. I wanted the spinning in my head to stop. And after a few more minutes of tormenting myself, I decided to do something I never thought I'd be capable of.
I was going to sneak over to the old man's house. Quietly. Just to take a look from the window. I knew how pathetic it sounded, jealous of an old man. Insecure. Weak. But I needed to know. I needed to see.
With shaky resolve, I crept out and approached his house. Step by step. Silent and careful.
When I reached the window, I took a sharp, sneaky glance inside. My heart pounded like a drum.
The kitchen was the first thing I saw. Empty. No one there.
I slowly shifted my position, trying to expand my view. Bit by bit, the room unfolded before my eyes. The couch came into view.
Still nothing. No old man. No wife. No one.
My heart started racing. Louder. Harder. My shirt clung to my back with sweat. I wiped my forehead, feeling the chill of panic set in.
Where the hell were they?
My heart kept pounding louder as I stared into the empty living room.
No one.
Neither my wife nor the old man was there. The couch sat undisturbed. The kitchen silent.
Where had they gone?
I tried to reason with myself. Maybe the old man was resting in his bedroom, and my wife had stepped out to run some errands? That had to be it. It made sense. She mentioned she might need to pick something up. I nodded quietly to myself, convincing myself that was the only logical answer.
But logic wasn't helping the unease in my chest. I didn't want to keep guessing.
So I slowly moved toward the side of the house, quietly, nervously. Before I reached the bedroom window, I noticed the bathroom window glowing softly—the light inside was on.
I paused.
Something about it made me uneasy.
I stepped closer, slowly, careful not to draw attention. The window was frosted, but not enough to block everything. I narrowed my eyes and focused on the hazy reflection inside.
I noticed movements. There was someone in there. It had to be the old man. Who else would it be? I leaned in slightly, trying to make sense of the shifting silhouette.
Then… I saw it.
A crouch. His upper body dipped low, like he was bending down for something. He stayed like that for a few seconds, still and frozen.
I tilted my head, puzzled.
Was he picking something up? Searching for something?
But then I noticed something strange. A small push forward, just a bit, and then stillness again. Then, slowly, a similar movement… back. And then forward once more. Very slow and controlled.
I couldn't tell what he was doing.
Why would he crouch like that? And why those slow, deliberate shifts?
I stared harder, trying to find something, anything—that would make it make sense.
Maybe he dropped something? Maybe he was hurt? I don't know. It was hard to tell.
The window gave no clarity—just shapes and shadows. It made no sense.
I leaned just a little closer. On my final glance, I saw something that made my stomach twist. His arm was raised, and from the outline, it looked like he was resting his hand against something in front of him. It definitely wasnt the wall. It was low. Maybe a small sitting chair? Or something else?
I stared harder, but the window revealed nothing more. Just shadows, shapes, movement I couldn't quite define. And my own reflection staring back at me, uncertain and confused.
I let out a long breath and pulled away, still unsure what I had just seen. It wasn't enough to make any assumptions. It wasn't anything I could be certain of.
Still, a strange weight settled in my chest as I turned and walked back home.
Few minutes later, I heard the door open. She was back.
She passed me quick, vanishing into the bathroom, and I sat there, staring at the wall, unsure whether I was overthinking everything… or not thinking hard enough.