HE LEFT HIS COAT ON THE FLOOR SMELLING STRONGLY OF SOMEONE ELSE’S PERFUME
The heavy wool coat lay where he dropped it by the door, and the scent hit me instantly like a physical blow to the chest. It was sweet, cloying jasmine, definitely not mine, clinging stubbornly to the rough fabric. My hands started shaking as I picked it up, the dread a cold knot tightening in my stomach.
He walked back into the hallway, pausing mid-sentence when he saw me standing there holding the coat, eyes narrowed. “What?” he asked, too casually. My voice trembled when I finally spoke, the words barely a whisper, “Who were you with that smells like this?”
His face went blank for a second, then flickered into annoyance. He tried to take the coat, but I held it tighter. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, reaching for it again. The sound of his voice, sharp and dismissive, felt like a slap.
I pulled the coat away, shoving my hand deep into the pocket. My fingers brushed against something small, metallic, and then a folded piece of paper. I pulled them out, my eyes fixing on the tiny, ornate earring and the hotel key card resting in my palm.
Then my phone lit up with a message from a number I didn’t know.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*He lunged for the keycard and earring, but I stepped back, my mind reeling. The unknown number on my phone flashed again. I tapped it open, heart pounding.
“Enjoyed last night. Hope you did too. -L”
The blood drained from my face. I looked at him, really looked at him, at the guilt twisting his features, the lie struggling to stay hidden. “Who…is L?” I managed, the words thick with pain.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “It’s…it’s nothing. A client. Just a business dinner.” The explanation was weak, desperate, and utterly unbelievable.
I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “A client who leaves her earring in your pocket and sends you suggestive texts? A client who drenches you in perfume I don’t recognize?”
He ran a hand through his hair, finally defeated. “Okay, fine,” he said, his voice flat. “It happened. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I repeated, the word echoing in the suddenly silent hallway. “A mistake that involved a hotel room? A mistake you’re only admitting to because I found evidence?”
I walked to the coat rack and hung the coat back up, carefully placing the keycard and earring on top. “I need you to leave,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
He stared at me, shocked. “Leave? Where am I supposed to go?”
“That’s not my problem anymore,” I replied, turning away from him. “I think you know where to find L.”
He stood there for a moment, silent, then finally picked up his keys and walked out the door. I watched him go, the heavy silence of the apartment amplifying the hollow ache in my chest.
Later, after he was gone, after the tears had finally subsided, I sat down at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the future I had imagined. It hurt, terribly, but it also felt like a weight had been lifted. I might be heartbroken, but I was also free. And for the first time in a long time, I knew I would be okay.