Zero Tolerance: The Scent of Betrayal

The first time I noticed something was off was when I smelled an unfamiliar body wash scent on her.

We always use the same brand and fragrance at home. So that day when she came home and leaned in to kiss me, I immediately sensed something wasn’t right.

“Did you shower somewhere else today?” I asked casually.

“A bird pooped on my head. I didn’t want to stink up the house, so I showered at school before coming home,” she replied smoothly.

I smiled and let my gaze drift quickly over her face. She was too calm.

So I joked, “Good thing it didn’t happen back in our hometown. There, you’d have to collect rice from a hundred families to make a ‘hundred family meal’ to ward off the bad luck.”

That evening, before my shower, I pulled out the clothes she had tossed in the washing machine. I sniffed them carefully but couldn’t detect any scent other than body wash.

How could a woman go from morning to night, interacting with so many people, without picking up any traces of perfume, sweat or food smells?

I examined her clothes meticulously. The average adult woman sheds about 50 hairs a day, mostly on the back. But this shirt didn’t have a single hair on it! It was as clean as if she had just put it on before coming home.

That night, Olivia was especially affectionate, clinging to me and initiating intimacy.

I felt nauseous the whole time. I have mild germaphobia, and even though there was still uncertainty, the whole process felt like swallowing a dead fly.

“Honey, you don’t seem very into it tonight,” Olivia curled up in my arms afterwards. “Did you hear something upsetting during a therapy session again?”