“I don’t want to talk about this,” Effie Marsh said, hurling her bag onto the couch. 

Her face was etched with icy detachment, shutting down any chance of further discussion. 

I rubbed my throbbing temples, bone-tired from the endless back-and-forth. 

We’d been at each other’s throats since clocking out, sparked by the events at the firm’s annual gala earlier that day. 

I couldn’t comprehend why she had diminished my hard-earned victories while propping up Kevin Taylor, the fresh-faced newcomer who’d joined the firm only months ago. 

To her, my objections were petty, a childish scramble for minor perks against Kevin. The spat dragged on until we both dug in our heels, the air crackling with tension. 

Her phone pinged with an incoming message. She fished it out, scanned the screen, and furrowed her brow. 

“Something urgent came up at the office. I gotta head back for a client schmooze,” she said. “I’m done arguing over nonsense. Pull yourself together, and remember to compile that case breakdown for tomorrow’s hearing. Send it to me ASAP.” 

She sighed, adding, “You’re being so small-minded. We’ve been married for five years, and you’re fixated on chump change. It’s disappointing.” 

“Small-minded? Me?” I was incredulous. 

She had a knack for derailing arguments, dodging the core issue like a pro. Whenever Kevin was mentioned, she’d pivot to her jam-packed schedule or remind me of our common interest. 

The next few minutes passed in stony quiet. 

She grumbled about her exhausting day, insisting on a shower before changing in the bedroom. We exchanged no words, our standoff chilling the air. 

But a marriage couldn’t survive like this indefinitely. Someone had to break the ice. 

I mulled it over and stepped toward her, ready to extend an olive branch, when a peculiar sight stopped me cold. 

Effie was furtively tucking a bundle into her suit pants. I edged closer for a better look, and my stomach twisted. 

It was a pair of black stockings, the kind that screamed anything but a late-night work grind. 

The apology lodged in my throat, neither coming out nor going down easily. 

A heavy dread settled in my chest. Memories of her strange behavior over the past six months flooded back. 

There had been endless meetings and frequent business trips. Her impatience with me had been growing, and intimacy was a distant memory. 

That meant nothing but a love affair. The truth hit like a freight train. 

I staggered, eager to confront her, but I reined it in. 

Swallowing the rising bile, I decided this could be the catalyst for a swift, clean break, as our marriage had long been a hollow shell. 

I quietly backed out of the bedroom and sank onto the couch. 

Effie emerged moments later, her posture tense. “Did you call me just now?” 

I met her gaze with feigned confusion. “No.” 

Relief washed over her, but soon, her expression hardened back to frosty indifference. 

“I’m off to the office. We can hash out the bonus drama later,” she said. “Don’t wait up. I might crash there tonight.” 

She left without awaiting my reply. 

I counted down the minutes, estimating her drive out of the complex, then shrugged into my coat, dashed downstairs, and flagged a cab to tail her. 

Right from the start, her route veered wildly off course.