Affair

The living room was dim as Mary sat on her side of the couch. Infomercials blared their useless nonsense, but she didn't hear them. Her thoughts drowned out the noise. She turned her head to the wall on her right, where the hands pointed to 10:40. "He's late again. He's been late a lot lately." These thoughts began to grow in her mind like mold on stale bread, ever since he came home four nights ago reeking of vanilla and rose—a scent she never wore. The seconds ticked on the clock as if to tell her, "Cheater, cheater," but she wouldn't believe it. Her fingers busied themselves trying to soothe the anxiety as she picked at the freshly painted nails.

"Cheater, cheater," the clock ticked, warning her almost mockingly. She looked at the time again, and the wall lit up, reflecting the headlights of her husband's car as he pulled into the driveway. "Cheater, cheater," the clock said one last time before the sound of keys jingled from outside the door, and then the door opened. The smell of vanilla and rose wafted in, leaving him in its shadow as he stood there. His silhouette stood against the clock. "Cheater, cheater," the clock warned.