Leo and I had been married for three years. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple, deeply in love. But only I knew the truth. He’d slept in the guest room for all one thousand and ninety-five nights of our marriage. He had never touched me. I placed the divorce papers on his desk, ready to set him free. But as I did, my eyes caught on the journal lying open. She left her things in the bathroom again after her shower. The scent of her still clinging to them. I held out for as long as I could. Then I took the lace thing. Hid it. God, I hope she doesn’t notice. I froze. All this time. All the lingerie I thought I’d lost. He took it. 1 A black and gold fountain pen, not the one I’d given him, lay across the middle of the open journal. But the lingerie he’d written about—that was the set I’d bought just last week. My mind raced, tumbling back through the last three years. The silk nightgowns, the lace bras… all told, it had to be more than twenty pieces. I’d always found a rational explanation. A strong gust of wind on the clothesline. Left behind in a hotel room during a trip. Never once did I suspect Leo. He was too reserved, too stoic for something like this. After we were married, we treated each other with the careful politeness of cordial strangers. When he spoke to me, his gaze was direct, never straying, never lingering. How could he be capable of something so… furtive? But just last night, Leo had said the faucet in the guest bathroom wasn’t producing hot water. He asked if he could use my shower. He was in and out in thirty minutes, a quiet “thank you” as he left. I hadn’t thought a thing of it. But now I knew. He had taken it then. My own husband. Stealing my underwear. He couldn't wear it, so what on earth was he doing with it? An unsettling image flashed through my mind, and a hot blush crept up my neck. I couldn't let myself think about it. A powerful urge washed over me—to flip back through the journal, to read everything. To storm into the guest room and tear through his closet. But that would be a violation. A betrayal of the very civility we’d built our marriage on. I took a deep breath, forcing a calm I didn't feel. I would pretend I saw nothing. Turning, I quietly closed the study door behind me. And the divorce papers, the neatly folded end of my marriage, found a new home in the back of my dresser drawer. True or not, I was about to find out. 2 Leo came home early that evening. The living room was dark, and he called my name as he stepped inside. "Audrey." I steeled myself and walked out of the bedroom. "You're back. I, uh, I didn't make dinner tonight." He wore the same impassive expression as always. Calling my name, my full name, never a nickname, never a term of endearment. But I had read his journal. The thought of him, with that cool, detached face, secretly using my nightgowns to— I couldn't meet his eyes. He, of course, noticed nothing. He held out a Tiffany blue gift bag. "That's fine. We can go out. This is for you." I reached for it, and the back of my hand brushed against his fingertips. I pulled back as if I’d been burned. Leo’s eyes darkened for a split second, then returned to their usual calm. Today was our third anniversary. My gift to him was supposed to be his freedom. His was a pearl necklace. I swallowed down the knot of complicated emotions in my throat. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I forgot to get you something." He didn't seem to mind. "It's fine. I don't need anything. This necklace looked like you, so I bought it." "Thank you," I whispered. "Of course," he said, his tone even. "Get ready. I'll book a reservation." I chose a strapless velvet dress and a faux fur shawl, then clasped the pearl necklace he’d given me around my neck. The look wasn't overly flashy, but it was elegant. When I opened the door, Leo looked up, and for a brief, startling moment, he just stared. Our eyes met, and my heart gave a sudden, hard thump against my ribs. Before I could speak, he had already looked away. "Let's go." I watched his cool, retreating back and thought to myself, Let’s see how long you can keep up this act. … The restaurant was warm, and I was about to slip the shawl from my shoulders when he looked up, his gaze sharp and intense. Leo's features were naturally severe, his brow strong, his eyes deep-set. His glasses usually softened his intensity, giving him a more scholarly air. But right now, in the dim light of the restaurant, I saw something dangerous in his eyes. "Wh-what is it?" I stammered. "Nothing," he said, pushing his chair back. "I'm going out for a cigarette." The moment he left, the suffocating tension in the air eased. For a second there, I thought he was going to devour me whole. 3 Over dinner, Leo mentioned he was taking a few days off. He asked if I wanted to go visit my father. According to my original plan, I would have presented him with the divorce papers before going home. My dad hadn't been well since his business went bankrupt. He’d moved back to our hometown, renting a small house where he spent his days gardening. It was his therapy. He was slowly getting better, but he was under the impression that Leo and I were happy. I hadn’t found the words to tell him the truth. If I went home with Leo, the divorce would have to wait. He was waiting for my answer. I forced a smile. "Sure. If you're not too busy, that sounds nice." As we were leaving the restaurant, Leo stopped at the door. I looked at him. "Did you forget something?" His gaze, dark and unreadable, fell to my shoulders. "Put your shawl on." His tone was so sharp it was almost a command. Then, as if realizing how harsh he sounded, he softened his voice. "It's cold outside." "..." After my shower that night, I stared at the clothes in my laundry basket, thinking of my most recently vanished bra—a low-cut style, trimmed with white lace. I really loved that one. I wondered where Leo had hidden it. An idea formed. I deliberately left the nightgown I’d just taken off on the floor of the bathroom. Leo would be coming to use the shower again tonight. If the nightgown disappeared, I’d have my proof. Sure enough, a few minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo, his face as cool and unreadable as ever. "Sorry to bother you again tonight." I smiled at him, a picture of generosity. "It's no problem. Go right ahead." Listening to the sound of the running water, I felt like every second was an hour. I stared at the same page of my book, not reading a single word. Finally, he emerged. He looked completely normal. "Sleep well, Audrey. Goodnight." "You too. Goodnight." The moment he was gone, I bolted into the bathroom. And there it was. Or, rather, there it wasn't. My nightgown. Gone. I was a mess of humiliation and anger. I stormed to the guest room door, my hand raised to knock. But then I heard it—a low, muffled sound from within. A strained, guttural groan. Oh my God. He wouldn't be… right now… would he? My face was burning. Terrified of what I might see, I spun around and fled back to my room.
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