“Are you late today?”

I asked while putting on my shoes at the entrance. In the past, even if she had her back turned, she would have replied, “Yeah, just a little.”

There was no answer.

“Honey?”

Only then did she lift her head. But our eyes didn't meet. Her gaze brushed past me and settled on a clock hanging somewhere on the wall.

“…Overtime.”

It was short. And it was strangely dry.

I gave a small smile. Because if I didn't, I felt like something would break at any moment.

“You've been late a lot lately.”

I threw the words out lightly, but they landed heavier than I intended.

She didn't reply. She picked up her bag and brushed past me.

In that moment, I caught a scent I didn't recognize. Not the familiar smell of her shampoo, but a different scent that was hard to describe.

I turned around and looked at her.

“Did you change your perfume?”

Her steps faltered for a split second.

“…Yeah.”

I already knew that she didn't make eye contact when she was lying.

The sound of the door closing lingered in the house for a long time.

The house, left alone, was excessively quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the wall clock, and even Guest's breathing were all clearly audible.

I stood there for a long time.

The sofa she used to sit on, The mug she used often, Even the hair tie she would toss down carelessly. Everything was exactly the same, But it felt like the one most important thing had vanished.

I slowly sat on the sofa. And I picked up her mug.

I didn't drink from it. I just stared at it for a long time.

When did it start?

At first, it was very small things. Replies getting slower, Not picking up the phone, Starting to postpone plans frequently. Back then, I tried to understand. She must be tired, she must have a lot of work.

I always thought that way.

Because I had never once doubted that she loved me.