She stood in the hallway.
“What about me?”
He looked at her.
“Bedroom is yours tonight.”
She looked relieved.
Only slightly.
Then he continued:
“Tomorrow we discuss where you're staying.”
Her relief vanished.
“This is my house too.”
“Yes.”
“Then you can't throw me out.”
“I didn't say I could.”
She folded her arms.
“Then what are you saying?”
“That I won't share a bedroom with you.”
The Wife stared.
“We can fix this.”
The Husband opened the guest-room door.
“Not tonight.”
Then closed it.
He barely slept.
At three in the morning, he heard crying through the wall.
He felt nothing like satisfaction.
That surprised him.
Part of him still loved her.
That did not disappear simply because evidence arrived.
Love could survive after trust died.
It simply became useless.
At seven, he woke.
The Wife sat at the kitchen table.
Same dress.
One of his sweatshirts over it.
No makeup.
Hair tied loosely.
She looked younger.
More like the woman he married.
That made everything harder.
Coffee sat beside her.
One for him too.
The Husband stopped.
The Wife whispered:
“I made yours.”
He almost laughed.
Coffee.
As though routine could negotiate with catastrophe.
He sat opposite.
The Wife looked toward him.
“Are you going to divorce me?”
“Yes.”
She flinched.
No hesitation.
No “maybe.”
No threat.
Just yes.
The Wife stared into her cup.
“Already decided.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When you laughed upstairs.”
Her eyes closed.
He continued:
“Not when I saw you.”
She looked up.
“When I heard you explain me to them.”
The Wife swallowed.
“What did you hear?”
“Enough.”
She looked terrified now.
The Husband repeated:
“He trusts me.”
Her face collapsed.
He continued.
“He always believes whatever keeps the peace.”
The Wife began crying.
“I was showing off.”
“To them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
The Husband shook his head.
“You wanted them to think I was stupid.”
“No.”
“You wanted to feel powerful.”
Her breathing became uneven.
“Maybe.”
The Husband stood.
“I'll contact an attorney Monday.”
The Wife reached for his hand.
He moved it away.
“Please don't make this permanent because of one night.”