Same Thursdays, Same Lies

I wasn’t suspicious at first. We’d been together three years, lived together,

shared calendars. Nothing felt off enough to panic. The first weird thing was the laundry.

One of his dress shirts came out of the wash smelling like a hotel. Not perfume—clean,

industrial, like fresh sheets that aren’t yours. I joked about it. He laughed and said

maybe the detergent changed. Then I noticed the receipts. We budget together,

so when a charge popped up from a coffee shop across town—one I’d never been to—I asked

him about it. He said he’d stopped there after work. The thing is, the charge was for

two drinks. Same time, every Thursday. Still, I didn’t confront