I stood still on the threshold. The spot was dark, spread close to the edge of the bed, and for a moment my mind built the worst possible version of the scene. But that’s not what really stopped me. It was silence.
My mother-in-law slept with her mouth ajar, still dressed, makeup run. My husband was breathing deep, alien to everything. I approached it slowly and then I saw it clearly: a glass of red wine overturned on the nightstand, the liquid drained to the sheet. Nothing more. No treason, no scandal worthy of soap opera. Just the carelessness of a woman who had drunk too much and a room that no one had bothered to order. Astronomy
