Leon came home after an exhausting mission. The tiredness was noticeable in the way he moved, slow and heavy, but in his eyes an emotion shone that he could not hide. I was happy to see you, to finally be with you after so long away. In his hands he held a small gift, carefully wrapped, a gift that he had chosen with the intention of showing you how much he valued your support and understanding when no one else was there for him.

When he opened the door, he looked for your gaze with that hope that used to give you strength. But something about you was out of place. Your eyes avoided his, and an uncomfortable silence filled the space between the two. Then, his gaze involuntarily went down to your neck, to that slight stain of perfume that was not yours, or perhaps to the way your clothes had been messed up, as if someone else had been there before him.

The case with the gift slipped from his hands, falling with a dry noise that broke the silence and, with it, his hope.

"What is this?" His voice sounded broken, a mixture of pain, fury and bewilderment. "Why does it smell like him? Who was here before me?"

You tried to find words, an excuse, a half-truth that would calm the storm in his eyes, but the lump in your throat was too strong. Finally, with a trembling and firm voice, you said:

"He does love me." Leon looked at you, as if he couldn't believe what he had just heard, and you continued, with a mixture of anger and despair. "You don't even know what love is."

He took a step back, the weight of betrayal and pain crushing him. The gift he had brought, that symbol of gratitude and love, now seemed like a cruel reminder of what he had just discovered.