Chapter 3 - The Scent of Betrayal
Two months before the grand anniversary party, Eric had come home late from the office. When he leaned in to kiss my cheek, I noticed he smelled exactly the same way Natalie had smelled tonight—like a heavy, unfamiliar mix of a woman's floral perfume masking his signature cedarwood cologne. When I casually asked him about the lingering scent, he didn't miss a beat. He smoothly claimed it was a potent new air freshener the detailer had sprayed in his car that afternoon.
I believed him. Of course I did. You are conditioned to believe the person you share a bed with.
But looking back, the signs had been accumulating like dark clouds before a storm. I did not ultimately hire the private investigator because I suspected my younger sister of betrayal. I hired him because of Eric’s escalating, erratic behavior.
First, it was the sudden influx of urgent Saturday morning meetings that kept him away all weekend. Then, it was the vague “business trip” to Asheville where his phone was mysteriously turned off for two days. The breaking point arrived on Valentine’s Day. He told me he was running out to a boutique florist to buy me a special arrangement. He returned three hours later, flustered, empty-handed, and smelling of that same distinct perfume.
May you like
I did not scream or confront him in the hallway. I did not demand to check his phone. I simply retreated to my home office, locked the door, and opened my laptop. I searched for a reputable professional and dialed the number for Grant Miller, a highly recommended private investigator.
“I want to know who the other woman is,” I told Grant, my voice devoid of emotion. “That’s all I need.”
