As we left the restaurant, I caught Carter' gaze lingering on me—a deliberate provocation, a silent dare. The drive home was tense, the car thick with unspoken words.
Scarlett tried to break the silence, her voice overly cheerful as she talked about mundane things. But I didn’t respond, keeping my eyes on the road, my grip on the steering wheel tight.
Later that night, as we lay in bed, Scarlett curled up against me, her slender arms draped across my back.
It was then I spoke, my voice soft yet cutting. “Scarlett, why do you smell like someone else? A scent I’ve noticed before... but not on you.”
Her body stiffened instantly. She shot out of bed, retreating into the bathroom so quickly it was almost comical. “That must be the disinfectant from the infirmary!” she called out, her voice trembling. “I’ll just take a quick shower. You don’t have to wait up, honey.”
I lay there listening to the water run, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. Two more days. Two more days, and this will all be over.
***
The next day, I woke to the scent of food wafting into the bedroom. It was nearly noon. Scarlett entered with a radiant smile, her voice sweet as honey. “Darling, wake up. I made all your favorites!”
At the dining table, she sat across from me, her eyes glued to my face as I ate. “I’m staying home today,” she declared. “I want to spend every second with you. Just you and me, together forever.”
For the rest of the day, she stayed true to her word. She clung to me like a shadow, ignoring her constantly buzzing phone.
We watched cheesy dramas, played old two-player games, and laughed at nothing in particular. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt like the old days. Almost. But I knew better.
As night fell, the doorbell rang, breaking the illusion. Scarlett rose to answer, her voice light. “Who could that be at this hour?” Her tone shifted abruptly when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
Carter’s voice followed, low and pitiful. “I had nowhere else to go. Won’t you let me in?”
When he stepped inside and saw me, his face lit with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Henry! I didn’t realize you’d be here. My hotel had issues, and Scarlett mentioned you had a guest room. I hope it’s not too much trouble?”
I glanced at Scarlett, whose face had paled, her hands fidgeting nervously. “Of course,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Make yourself at home.”
I excused myself to fetch some spare pajamas while Scarlett led Carter to the guest room.
***
Upstairs, I moved quietly, making sure to stay within earshot. I heard Scarlett’s sharp whisper, filled with barely restrained anger.
“Are you out of your mind? What do you think you’re doing?”
Carter’s reply was soft, pleading. “I miss you, Scarlett. I miss our child.” There was a brief pause before Scarlett hissed, her voice colder now.
“Shut up! The child I’m carrying belongs to my husband. Do you understand?”
But Carter wasn’t deterred. I heard the faint rustle of movement, the unmistakable sound of a kiss.
Perhaps the wedding photos on the walls had fueled his recklessness, but he was relentless, clinging to Scarlett as if she were his lifeline.
Their muffled whispers continued for several agonizing minutes before Scarlett seemed to regain control. “No,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered. “My husband is upstairs. This is insane.”
Carter chuckled lowly. “He’ll never hear us. The master bedroom is on the second floor, and we’re on the first. Come find me when he’s asleep.”
The sound of his arrogance made my blood boil, but I kept my composure. I knocked lightly on the door and entered.
“Captain Brooks,” I said, holding out a set of pajamas. “These were a gift from Scarlett. I haven’t worn them yet. I hope you don’t mind.”
Carter took them, feigning surprise. “If Scarlett picked them out, I’m sure they’re perfect. Thank you, Henry.” His eyes didn’t leave Scarlett, who stood frozen in place, her expression unreadable.
Before I left, Scarlett practically shoved me out of the room, muttering excuses about needing to show Carter around.
***
That night, Scarlett waited until she thought I was asleep before slipping out of bed. She left the bedroom quietly, the soft click of the door closing behind her barely audible.
I didn’t follow. I didn’t need to. Under my roof, in our shared home, their betrayal felt more brazen, more deliberate. Perhaps the thrill of getting away with it was part of the appeal.
But the clock was ticking. Two more days.
