Her Fake Affair Was Real Enough To Convince Me

She told me she had to work late.

But in that photo, she was blindfolded, lips painted blood-red, the necklace still nestled against her skin.

I couldn’t recall if she wore it out today.

But last night, she held it between her fingers, smiled softly, and kissed me like I was her whole world.

Now, my throat was dry, and words caught in my chest. Black spots danced across my vision.

Was she really working overtime? Or had she already….

I didn’t dare finish the thought. A suffocating weight pressed down on me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

I didn’t sleep the whole night. The lights stayed off. Curtains drawn.

The glow from my phone screen lit my face, flickering like a ghost.

I stared at that photo again. And again. Fifty times, maybe more.

Each time my eyes landed on that necklace, it cut a little deeper, like it was slicing me open from the inside.

I tried finding something, anything. I zoomed in on the avatar of the person who posted it, rotating it slowly, my finger trembling across the glass.

The image was grainy. But faintly, it resembled a man’s side profile.

And at the corner of his lips, a smirk. Like he was laughing at me.

A flood of guesses surged through my mind: a male colleague from her company? A friend? An old classmate? But I couldn’t be sure.

I mumbled under my breath, “Who is it?”

My finger kept swiping until the screen went black. The phone had died.

Darkness.

At 8 a.m., a knock sounded at the door.

I jolted, and my phone nearly slipped from my lap. She was back.

Averie walked in with her bag still slung over her shoulder, wrapped in the same trench coat.

Her face was pale, her lips chapped, her hair slightly disheveled, and her makeup hadn’t been fully removed.

“Had meetings all night. It was hell,” she muttered, tossing her bag onto the sofa and peeling off her coat, scarf following.

I said nothing.

She came over and kissed my cheek.

“You’re up so early?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Another sleepless night?”

She frowned slightly, a trace of reproach in her tone. “Why have you always been like this lately? Too much work stress?”

My throat felt stuck. I couldn’t get a word out. I simply nodded.

She didn’t ask anything else and went straight into the bedroom.

I stood alone in the living room, hearing the door close gently and the bed creak.

She lay down. And just like that, I fell asleep as if nothing had happened.

I stood there like a stone.

She lay on the bed we had bought together, eyes closed, facing the window, her breathing calm and even.

I picked up my phone and looked at her photo again. She had blindfolded eyes, parted red lips, and glowing collarbones.

It was all real. And so was the betrayal.

She slept peacefully in the bedroom, her surface flawless.

I stood in the living room like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Below me was an endless abyss.

Clenching my teeth, I kept asking myself, had she been tricked? Set up? Or did she know exactly what she was doing? Did she do it willingly?

The two voices in my head clashed, fighting so viciously that it felt like they would split my skull open.

Who was she, really?

The woman I had married? The wife I had loved and known for five years? Or a stranger I never truly knew?

I began investigating her.

Averie was the same as always: going to work, coming home, eating, bathing, watching shows, and sleeping.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

She was even more gentle than before.

At night, she would lean on my shoulder while watching shows. In the morning, she would kiss me goodbye.

But I couldn’t smile anymore. I felt like an invisible man, locked outside the door of our marriage.

She was inside, doing God knows what, and I had no idea. I didn’t dare imagine.

I kept reviewing her schedule for the past month.

Twice, she had said she was going back to her parents’ place. She hadn’t done that often, maybe five or six times a year.

And every time, she would have me drive her there.