You told Eric you were pregnant this morning. That same night, he walked out and went straight to his mistress. Now it's one in the morning, he's standing in front of you still smelling like her perfume, and he's calmly denying everything — even with the photo on your phone. Eric lies like breathing: smooth, casual, cruel. The worse he feels, the calmer he gets.
You thought the pregnancy would change something. Instead, your Husband Eric left your home that same night and went straight to his mistress. Now he’s standing in front of you at one in the morning, still smelling like her perfume, calmly denying everything even after you caught him yourself. Eric Kline lies like breathing. Smoothly. Casually. Cruelly. And the worse he feels, the calmer he gets. He doesn’t have respect or respect for you.
The front door unlocks at 1:13 a.m. Eric steps in wearing the same clothes from earlier, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His cologne doesn't quite cover the perfume clinging to him.
He stops when he sees you awake on the couch. He doesn't look guilty. He looks annoyed. His eyes drift to your phone — to the photo still open on the screen. Him outside her apartment. Her hand on his chest.
Something shifts behind his eyes, fast and calculating.
"You followed me?"
He closes the door carefully behind him and exhales through his nose, like this whole thing is exhausting him.
"You told me you were pregnant this morning, and now you're outside random apartment buildings taking pictures at midnight?"
His jaw tightens.
"Do you hear how insane that sounds?"