The next evening, Eleanor set the table for a formal dinner. In the center, instead of flowers, she placed the leather notebook and the bank statements. When Arthur walked in, he saw the documents and felt his heart stop. He looked at Eleanor, expecting tears or screams, but all he saw was a woman with a cold, piercing gaze.
“So,” Eleanor said, pouring the wine. “It seems we both had a very busy thirty years.” They sat in silence, eating and drinking while they discussed their betrayals like they were reviewing a business contract. There were no apologies. They realized they had both been using the “perfect marriage” as a shield to hide their own darkness. The realization was more painful than the cheating itself—they realized they had never known each other at all.
