Trying to regulate my breathing, I retreated inside, sniffing the air like some kind of hound dog tracking prey as I searched for more clues. I ventured into our bedroom and froze.

Was that sweet and sickly lingering smell perfume? Or was I simply being paranoid now? I yanked a pillow from the bed and buried my nose in it. But Adrian had changed the bedding as per our agreement, so it smelled like freshly washed linen. As I dumped the pillow back on the bed, my gaze flickered to the open door of our ensuite, landing on something white, visible through the holes in our black, imitation wicker bathroom bin.

A tissue!

Actually, on closer inspection, two tissues—one with a bright-red lipstick print that matched the colour on the glass and the other streaked with mascara, as if someone had used it to blot the wand.

Oh Lord. Whoever she was had been in our bedroom. Did that mean Adrian’s ‘friend’ had stayed the whole night? I doubled over, pain shooting to my stomach as if someone had punched me in the gut. How could he do this to us? To me?

I longed to interrogate the children when they came home from school. Had they seen or heard (shudder) anyone in the house after they’d gone to bed? Surely Adrian wouldn’t have been stupid enough to bring home his date when they were awake. Then again, he hadn’t been smart enough to cover his tracks.

I snatched up the makeup-stained tissues and flushed them down the toilet, wishing it was that simple to erase the knowledge there’d been another woman in my house.

In my bed. My husband between her legs.

One glance at our bed and I could visualise it all too well. How many times had they done the deed there? Had she been on top? Adrian loved it went I rode him cowgirl style, or at least he used to. Had she given him a blowjob? Or worse, had he put his mouth to her?

I shuddered. Was she the first he’d brought home or was she one of many?

Did she … mean anything to him?

Did I even want to know the answer?

While in theory I knew that our trial separation meant Adrian would fuck other women—hell, he’d blatantly told me that to my face—the reality hit me much harder than I’d imagined.

I started to cry—big, ugly sobs that had water pouring down my cheeks and snot gushing out of my nose, but I couldn’t bring myself to take a tissue from the same box she had. Instead, I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper, picked up the box, hurled it out the window and screamed until I went numb.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

Chapter 34

34