The days at the agency were becoming increasingly hectic. The company was growing rapidly, and with it, Alex found himself caught up in meetings, trips, and new projects. It was in this whirlwind of responsibilities that he hired a new secretary, Natalie.
A stylish and seductive woman, with straight hair and a copper-brown hue that reached her shoulders, always perfectly styled, and almond-shaped brown eyes. She displayed a charming smile, with calculated movements and a soft voice. She was always willing to help, to listen, to make him feel important. Without realizing it, Alex began to depend on her presence. At first, it was casual conversations, then work dinners, and eventually, something more.
The first time Helen saw her, an inexplicable discomfort overtook her, a bad premonition she couldn't ignore. She entered her husband's office, crossing her arms.
—So, you hired a new secretary...
—Yes, love. The days at the agency are getting more complicated. With Luke, I can't dedicate the same time as before. And I needed help.
—Why didn't you mention anything before?
—I didn't want to bother you with it, I thought it wasn't that important. Also, it was a last-minute decision.
—Last minute? Hiring someone who will be with you all day doesn't seem like a minor detail to me.
—I know, I know. But believe me, I did it out of necessity, not for any other reason. Natalie has experience, and she can handle the paperwork and meetings when I'm not around.
—No me importa que necesites ayuda, Alex. Lo que me molesta es sentir que lo hiciste a escondidas. —suspiró.
—I didn't mean to hide it from you, really. I promise that next time, we'll talk about these kinds of decisions together—he embraced her.
Soon after, Helen noticed the change in Alex.
At first, it was just small signs, easy to ignore if one clung to hope. Late arrivals, calls that he answered with a tense voice and short responses, a growing coldness in his gaze. She wanted to convince herself that it was just her imagination, that the work exhaustion was affecting their relationship, but the truth leaked out in details that were impossible to ignore.
One evening, while preparing dinner in the kitchen of their apartment, she heard the sound of the door opening and closing gently. The clock on the wall showed 11:20 p.m. Alex arrived silently, without the enthusiasm he once had. He wore his blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a slight frown. He put his keys on the entry table and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further.
—You're late again —she commented calmly, although her heart was pounding.
Alex sighed and leaned against the kitchen doorframe, not looking at her directly.
—We had a last-minute meeting. It ran longer than expected —he replied, taking off his watch.
Helen watched him from the corner of her eye as she stirred the sauce in the pan. There was something in his tone, in the way he avoided her gaze, that made her doubt.
—You could have let me know. I was worried —she said, making an effort to sound natural.
He exhaled heavily and came closer, resting his hands on the countertop. His posture was tense, as if he were trapped in an uncomfortable situation.
—I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time —he said, though his words lacked conviction.
Helen set the wooden spoon aside and turned to face him. She crossed her arms, resting her weight on one leg, and looked at him intently.
—Alex, is there something you want to tell me? —she asked cautiously.
He hesitated for a second, but quickly forced a smile, the same one that used to calm her in the past. But this time, his gaze lacked its usual spark.
—Of course not. It's just been a long day.
Helen nodded slowly, but the knot in her stomach didn't disappear. Alex came closer and gently stroked her arm, as if trying to erase her doubts. But something inside her screamed that the distance between them wasn't just due to exhaustion. There was something more, something she still didn't dare uncover.
As they sat down to dinner at the dining table, the warm light from the hanging lamp illuminated their faces. Alex ate silently, distracted, his gaze lost in his plate. Every so often, he checked his phone, hiding the screen with an almost imperceptible movement.
She felt a pang in her chest. It wasn't just the coldness or the late arrivals anymore. It was the disconnection. The way his presence seemed like a burden instead of a refuge. And for the first time, the fear of losing him stopped being just a fleeting thought. It became an undeniable certainty.
The excuses were vague, too rehearsed. "Last-minute meeting," "a client needed urgent advice," "the traffic was terrible." Excuses that she had initially accepted without questioning, until they became a predictable routine.
Every night, Alex came home later, with a tired expression and none of the warmth of someone longing to return home. He avoided her gaze when he kissed her on the forehead, a mechanical gesture that used to be full of tenderness.
Helen watched from the threshold of the living room, pretending to still be flipping through a magazine, although her thoughts were tangled in the same unanswered questions. When he sat on the sofa, she approached with a practiced smile.
—How was your day? —she asked one night, her voice calm, though her heart was beating faster than usual.
Alex barely looked up from his phone screen.
—Exhausting —he answered, rubbing his temple with two fingers—. Work was tough.
She sat next to him, watching him closely. His eyes no longer sparkled when he looked at her, and his smile seemed like a distant reflection of what it used to be.
—You've been coming home so late lately... —she commented cautiously.
He sighed, as if the conversation was more exhausting than his workday.
—I told you we've had a lot of unexpected meetings.
Alex closed himself off like a wall every time he felt questioned, and she feared that if she pushed too hard, he would pull away even further.
However, the following nights weren't any different. The same excuses, the same late arrivals, the same absence disguised as presence. One day, while folding the laundry in the bedroom, she found a lipstick stain on the collar of his white shirt. Her heart stopped for a moment. It wasn't her color. It wasn't her brand.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in her hands. She walked into the living room, where Alex was absorbed in his phone with a concentrated expression. Without looking up, she slid the shirt over the back of the couch.
—And this? —she asked, with a calm she didn't feel.
He blinked a couple of times before lifting his head, and upon seeing the shirt, his posture shifted. His jaw tightened, and his eyes scanned the fabric with a flash of nervousness.
—It must have been from the office. Maybe someone hugged me by mistake —he replied, too quickly.
Helen let out a humorless laugh and crossed her arms.
—Someone hugged you by mistake? What a coincidence, right on the collar of your shirt.
Alex ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he made when cornered. He stood up, looking for his jacket, as if the movement could dissipate the tension.
—Let's not make a drama out of this, Helen —he said wearily—. I'm exhausted.
She looked at him with a mixture of sadness and frustration.
—I'm exhausted too, Alex. But not because of work.
Then there was the perfume. A sweet, enveloping scent, unfamiliar. It wasn't hers. It wasn't from their home. But it was on his clothes, on Alex's skin, in the seat of his car. Like an invisible signature that didn't need words.
But what broke her was that night.