Betty might be shocked, maybe even guilty, but I wasn't sure if there'd be any surprises waiting for .
After all, it was our anniversary, and I was back.
As I pondered, the driver's voice broke through my thoughts, announcing we had arrived ho.
I hurried towards Building 1, found the familiar Unit 2, and looked up at our apartnt floor.
I saw Michael's room, its windows glowing a deep red.
I checked the ti; it was already 8:30 PM.
Could Michael have already gone to sleep?
Perhaps Betty was asleep too.
I paid the driver and suppressed the urge to sneak around to the back to peek through Betty's window.
Reaching the front of the unit, I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door.
The familiar slls of the street greeted , along with the cluttered staircase lined with bicycles, motorcycles, and various items, just as they were before I left.
Everything was the sa, yet everything had changed...
Standing at the foot of the stairs, I hesitated, unsure of what awaited at ho.
What if Betty and Michael were still engaged in their passionate lovemaking, as I had seen in the video?
Would my return ho shatter everything?
How should I confront a frenzied Betty and Michael?
Should I explode in anger, throwing things around, or physically confront them in their naked betrayal?
I truly didn't know how to face this situation.
I took out my phone and stared at the first call record in my contacts—it was Betty's from our conversation last night.
After a long hesitation, I dialed her number again.
The busy tone beeped, and my heart raced with nervous anticipation.
What would I say when she answered?
Should I tell her I was already downstairs?
Regret washed over for calling without deciding what to say first, anxiety building inside .
But then I thought, I'm about to face whatever is there, so what's left to hide?
Even if I hung up now, I could be at our apartnt in less than a minute.
But as I resolved to decide, the call disconnected on its own.
Betty hadn't picked up.
Why wouldn't she answer?
A scenario played out in my mind: Betty and Michael were in the throes of passion in Michael's bedroom.
The sounds of heavy breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh, the squelching of moist intimacy, and Betty's unrestrained moans filled Michael's room.
Betty's phone lay discarded in our bedroom, its screen lit with my incoming call, but the familiar ringtone couldn't drown out the sounds of their fervent lovemaking.
They were lost in each other, oblivious to the precious call from her husband...
I tried calling Betty again, but once more, it went unanswered and automatically disconnected.
I put down the phone and took several deep breaths, my heart burning with a mix of emotions, my body numb with shock.
I clenched my fists, trying to find so solace, yet found none.
I ascended the stairs step by step.
In the past, I would sprint up these stairs, eager to get ho, but this ti, my pace was steady and slow.
Gone was the eager anticipation of returning ho; instead, there was a dread of facing soone familiar who had changed so profoundly.
Though my steps were slow, the journey had an end.
I reached the familiar security door of our ho.
I stood frozen at the doorway, the silence of the hallway punctuated only by distant sounds of traffic and faint music from a store outside the complex.
My hand hovered over the door, poised to knock, but it seed as though an invisible force held it back.
My mind urged to tap on the surface, yet my limbs refused to comply.
Finally, I retracted my hand, a movent I could control effortlessly.
Was fate intervening, preventing from facing what lay beyond this door?
I leaned my ear against the cold tal, desperate to catch any hint of sound.
My heart pounded with the fear of discovering Betty flushed with the remnants of ecstasy, her surprise mingling with guilt over her betrayal with our adopted son.
Silence.
I pressed harder against the door, trying to discern any noise—was the house truly quiet, or was the door's insulation too effective?
A small relief crept through ; no sound was better than the confirmation of my worst fears.
I stepped back, lost in indecision at the threshold.
To knock or to use my key?
My real struggle seed not with the thod of entry but with the decision to enter at all.
It might be best if Betty inadvertently revealed herself by opening the door.
After what felt like an eternity, I glanced at my watch, pulled out my keys, and noticed the ring box and the official appointnt letter in my pocket.
I inserted the key into the lock, my movents delicate and nearly silent.
Why was I so cautious?
Was I afraid of disturbing sothing—or soone?
I gently rotated the key, its tal softly clicking as it turned in the lock.
My heart thudded in my chest, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool weather.
My back was slick with perspiration, my throat parched.
With a soft "click," the key turned fully, the lock disengaging.
The sound of the bolt retracting from the fra echoed slightly in the quiet hall.
I hesitated, not imdiately pushing the door open; even the slightest noise seed thunderous in the silence.
Had Betty or Michael heard the click?
Was Betty straightening up the living room?
Was Michael lounging with the TV on, or was Betty in his room, perhaps helping him with his howork?
Or were they entwined in a passionate embrace in one of their bedrooms?
I remained motionless, fearful of alerting the two inside.
I waited, listening for any movent that might indicate I had disturbed the occupants.
The silence stretched on.
Finally, I allowed myself a deep breath of relief.
After a mont to gather my courage, I slowly turned the handle, easing the door open inch by inch...
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