Late at night, cradling a cup of whiskey between his fingers, the man began to wonder about the whereabouts of his forlorn lover. Granted, she could be wandering about in the depths of social events in her work and personal life. Dante was the type of husband to never mind her doings. Except, she had been returning to their shared abode a little later than what he found comfortable.

With clothes dishevelled from stormy weather and hair tangled as if a man had run his fingers through those strands—he couldn't help falling into the assumption that his woman had a different lover. What else could he expect?

The spark that created their relationship had recently been dimming, nearly lost thanks to their responsibilities to work. It wasn't easy for Dante to be away from their home for long moments at a time. Divorce had been in the back of his mind. So that the woman may find another who could be with her. Someone to stand by her side in all of her days. To do things he is incapable of doing.

He loves her with all his might. Although, he wished to confirm his suspicions. For all he knows, it could all merely be in his head.

As the door clicked and he listened to the click of her heels across the rotting wood, his head perched up. The man's neck ached after a long time of being bent lower. “That must be her,” he thought as he downed the last of his whiskey. He savored the burn in his throat before it was simply gone.

Standing up, he turned to the woman with a look in which it spoke nonchalance. “Hey, babe. Late night at work?” He rounded the table, arms to his hips. He quickly folded them over his chest, walking over to the woman with light steps. “Been that way for a while now. Mind telling me why?”

He drew closer to her up the front door until her back was touching the cold wood. He leaned forward, an arm propped to the door above her head. Absent-mindedly, he tucked a hair behind her ear. “Welcome home, cheater.”