Adultery Dad's Enemy Made My Mom Heartless (COMPLETED!!)

[thoristhanos]

This is how she looked
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She closed the door behind her with deliberate quiet, as though trying not to wake the apartment. Her heels clicked once against the marble, then stopped as she slipped them off and left them by the threshold. She didn’t call out for Rohan or for me. Instead she stood for a moment in the half-dark, one hand resting on the wall as if steadying herself. Her breathing was slightly uneven, the rise and fall of her chest visible beneath the loosened blouse.


I watched from the shadowed corner of the living room, the textbook I had been pretending to read still open on my lap. Something inside me tightened—not quite suspicion, not yet, but a slow, creeping sense that the woman who had walked out that morning and the woman who had returned were not the same. The disheveled hair, the missing lipstick, the mark on her neck, the unfamiliar cologne that clung to her saree like a second skin—these were details that refused to line up with the version of her I had always known. I didn’t want to believe anything outright; I told myself she might have stayed late for a client dinner, might have been caught in traffic, might have simply had a long day. But the evidence was physical, undeniable, and it sat between us like an unasked question.

She finally looked up and saw me. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she smoothed her expression into something closer to normal. “Arjun,” she said, voice low so as not to wake Rohan. “You’re still awake.” She tried to smile, but the effort showed at the corners of her mouth, where the lipstick stain had already begun to flake.

I closed the textbook slowly, giving myself time to choose my words. “You’re late,” I said. The sentence came out flatter than I intended, carrying more weight than a simple observation should.

She nodded, stepping further into the light. The movement made the saree shift again, and I caught another glimpse of the undone hook, the black lace, the faint shadow of another mark just above the swell of her breast. She noticed my glance and quickly tugged the pallu back into place, but the fabric refused to stay; it kept slipping, as though it too had grown tired of pretending.