My husband said he would be late at work again. I decided to surprise him and went to his office with dinner. And that’s when I saw the person who suddenly made all those evenings make sense. It was my…

My husband again said he would be late at work. I decided to surprise him — I prepared dinner and drove to his office. I parked, got out of the car holding warm containers, feeling naively happy. And at that very moment, the office building doors swung open. And out came the person who suddenly made all those work delays make sense. It was my…

My younger sister. At my husband’s office. At ten in the evening. The same sister who moved to another city six months ago and has supposedly been living and working there since.

My hands were shaking as I dialed my husband. “Honey, is something wrong?” he asked in a calm voice. I managed to say, “I’m at your office. I brought dinner. Will you be free soon?” He sighed and said, “Thanks, but I’m definitely here for another two hours. The report is urgent. Go home, don’t wait up.”

Not a word about my sister. Not a hint.

I drove home in a daze. Sat in the kitchen and started putting the puzzle together. My husband started staying late at work right after my sister announced her move. He used to always come home on time. And now — constant excuses, phone in hand, tired appearance.

My sister is eight years younger than me. After her divorce, she often stayed with us. My husband helped her with renovations, drove her around, treated her like family. When she said she was moving, he went himself to help with the move. He returned two days later, said everything was set up.

Since then, she called every week, sent photos — new kitchen, view from the window, colleagues at a cafe. Three days ago, she wrote: “The weather is terrible, it’s pouring rain.” I joked that we had more luck with the sun.

Has she been here all this time?

I opened our conversation and scrolled through the messages. Funny pictures, stories about work, family news. Everything seemed so natural. So believable.

In the morning, after my husband left, I called my sister. “Where are you right now?” I asked. Pause. Just two seconds, but I heard them clearly. “At home, why?” she answered. “Which home?” — “At my apartment. What happened?”

Lies. I’ve known my sister since childhood; I hear dishonesty in every word.

The next day, I went to the office again. Parked so I wouldn’t be seen. At eight in the evening, my husband came out of the building. With my sister. They stood by the entrance, talking, laughing. Then he put his arm around her shoulders. His hand lingered there longer than necessary. She looked at him — that upward glance I had seen before. Just not with my sister.

I gripped the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turned white. I wanted to jump out of the car, scream, but I couldn’t move.

They parted ways. My sister left in a taxi; my husband headed to the parking lot. I went home and made dinner. Met him with a smile. Listened to stories about work. Looked at this person I’ve lived with for twenty-three years and thought — how easily you lie.

In the morning, I couldn’t hold it in. I asked, “Have you seen my sister?” He looked at me surprised: “She’s in another city. Why do you ask?” — “I thought she might have visited.” He shook his head: “No. She would have dropped by.”

Straight in the eyes. Calmly. Confidently.

Yesterday, my sister sent a photo from a café: “Having lunch with colleagues.” I enlarged the photo. In the window’s reflection — a street five minutes away from our house.

A week has passed. My husband is staying late at work. My sister keeps sending photos from the “other city.” And I smile, cook dinner, ask how the day went. At night, I lie next to him and think — two of the closest people to me lie to my face every day. Sometimes I want to wake him and ask outright. But I’m afraid. Afraid that the truth will destroy everything. And even more afraid that I’m already living in a destroyed world, just unwilling to acknowledge it. Tell me, which is scarier — to learn the truth and end up with nothing or to keep living a lie, pretending you notice nothing?

****

My husband once again said he would be staying late at work. I decided to surprise him – I prepared dinner and drove to his office. I parked, stepped out of the car with warm food containers in my hands, feeling naively happy. And at that very moment, the doors of the office building swung open. Someone walked out, the reason all those “late nights at work” suddenly made sense. It was my…
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