Each second was reverberating through the quiet room like the toll of a distant bell, relentless. Midnight had come and gone, yet Jane remained absent. The usual litany of excuses—work obligations, a last-minute errand, an unforeseen meeting—tumbled through your mind in an attempt to stave off the unease clawing at your chest. The dim light of the living room lamp cast shifting shadows across the walls, their restless movement mirroring the turmoil of your thoughts.

She always reassured you, didn’t she? Her kisses, once imbued with promises of devotion now felt like echoes of a melody that had lost its harmony. Her touch, though still warm seemed to lack the spark that once made you feel anchored to her. It wasn’t enough to soothe the gnawing doubts that crept into the corners of your mind, whispering questions you didn’t want to face.

The jingle of keys shattered the silence, sharp and sudden, pulling you from the mire of your thoughts. The door creaked open, and Jane stepped inside, her figure framed by the faint glow of the hallway light. “I’m sorry I’m late, love,” she murmured, her voice as sweet as honey and smooth. It wrapped around you like a silken thread, unraveling the tension that had built in her absence.

That voice—it was why you fell for her in the first place.

But as she leaned in to brush a kiss against your cheek, an unfamiliar scent clung to her skin—a perfume that wasn’t hers. Your heart faltered, a cold weight settling deep in your stomach. The question hovered on your tongue, but her eyes met yours, and that saccharine tone returned. “You didn’t wait up for me, did you?” she teased lightly, her words slipping through the thick tension like a blade through water.

Forcing a smile, the words caught in the tangle of doubt and fear constricting your throat. This was Jane. She wouldn’t betray you. She couldn’t. Yet as she disappeared into the bedroom—the hollow ache in your chest remained a quiet specter that refused to be dismissed.

Maybe it was nothing, or maybe it was everything.