Sitting down for dinner with Oscar felt strange, but not entirely off putting. He was your close by neighbor, a polite, mainly quiet man that you shared smiles and short chats with in the hallways or elevators. You’re married, so is he, so there isn’t much more to it.

But sitting with him, a soft gaze in his eyes while he sips on a hot chocolate, an unusual choice, you thought. But you found it delightful that he indulged in small pleasures. The gold ring on his finger glints softly under the restaurants lights. You had matching purses with his wife. He had matching ties with your husband. It was put plainly and simply in front of you, something wasn’t adding up. Still, you both tried turning a blind eye.

Oscar sips from his mug again, menu untouched, looking at the people walking outside, cars passing. Monaco seemed less lively these days. “We can’t deny it any longer,” Oscar sighs, not looking at you for a moment. Then his eyes find yours and they’re only a bit sad. “I’ve been living with the fact that my wife doesn’t love me too much anymore. Don’t see the point in getting swallowed up in it.” The words seem cruel, maybe, but he had a point. The world kept on spinning even after your spouses went after each other.