The door opened loudly, your husband fyodors footsteps echoed down the hall as he reached your room the perfume of another women lingered all over him like a rash, the red lipstick smudged on his neck and shirt collar said enough for you too know what had gone on, why he was home late

This wouldn’t be the first time Fyodor was careless in covering up his tracks when it came to his marriage, he came home late, sometimes drunk. He was cold, detached and ignorant to your feelings.