The atmosphere was peaceful as the evening sun began its descent, casting a gentle golden hue on everything it touched. Catherine was maneuvering her sleek sedan through the city streets, the hum of the engine a soft undertone to her thoughts. Her hair, freshly styled from the upscale beauty salon, framed her face perfectly. The scent of the shampoo still lingered in the air, a delicate mix of lavender and chamomile.

She had been so engrossed in her own world that she nearly missed the familiar sign of the large supermarket that loomed up on her right. It was a typical spot for her weekly grocery runs, a place that offered the comfort of routine. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: ‘Perhaps I should stock up for the upcoming week.’ On a whim, she decided to make a detour.

As she signaled and made her way into the parking lot, another thought struck her. Dylan, her husband, sometimes shopped here after his work. Picking up her phone, she dialed his number, hoping to perhaps coordinate their lists or even just enjoy a spontaneous coffee date at the supermarket’s cafe.

But the familiar ringtone extended longer than usual, ending with the disappointing buzz of a voicemail. Just as she was about to slip the phone back into her bag, it vibrated with an incoming message. The screen lit up with Dylan’s name, and the message read, “I’m in a meeting. I can’t talk. I’ll call you later.”

Catherine felt a mix of annoyance and understanding. She knew Dylan’s job often demanded unexpected commitments. But if he was still ensnared in work duties, then he hadn’t made his usual grocery run. With renewed determination, she parked her car in a spot close to the entrance. Grabbing her reusable bags from the back seat, she made her way into the supermarket, mentally preparing her shopping list.

Navigating through the rows of parked cars, Catherine was preoccupied with thoughts of dinner and what fresh produce to get. However, a familiar vehicle caught her eye — a sleek black SUV, unmistakably Dylan’s, given the unique scratch on the rear bumper from a minor accident they had laughed about months ago.

Her steps slowed as she approached, and her heart began to race. She glanced through the tinted windows: the driver’s seat was vacant. The entire car was empty. A whirlwind of emotions clouded her thoughts. Hadn’t Dylan just messaged her moments ago, saying he was engrossed in a meeting at the office? And yet, here was his car, standing silently in the fading light of the evening.

As she stood there, a barrage of thoughts engulfed her mind. Was he lying to her? The weight of suspicion felt heavy in her chest. Memories of whispered phone calls he had taken in another room, recent late nights at work, and small, seemingly insignificant changes in his behavior all came rushing back. Was he having an affair? The mere thought sent a sharp pang of pain through her heart.

She tried shaking off the overpowering suspicion. Maybe there was a rational explanation? Maybe he had forgotten something at the store, or perhaps he was surprising her with something? But the nagging doubt persisted.

Biting her lip, she decided on a course of action. Instead of going into the supermarket, she’d wait. Catherine swiftly returned to her car, parked a few spots away, ensuring her vehicle remained inconspicuous. She settled into her seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. She decided she’d confront Dylan when he returned, seeking answers to the questions that now clouded her mind.

The parking lot was gradually emptying as the evening shoppers made their way home. The muted hum of distant conversations and the clatter of shopping carts echoed in the air. Catherine’s attention was solely fixed on Dylan’s car, each minute stretching out, feeling almost unbearable in its weight.

Suddenly, the screech of old brakes jarred her from her reverie. An old, dilapidated sedan, its paint faded and rust eating away at its corners, pulled into a nearby parking spot. Catherine barely gave it a passing glance, dismissing it as irrelevant. But then the car door creaked open and out stepped a figure she knew all too well, yet looked so unfamiliar.

It was Dylan, but not the Dylan she recognized. Instead of his usual crisply ironed suit, the kind he wore daily to his office job, he was donning worn-out jeans and a faded t-shirt, the fabric stretched and thinning. His shoes, usually polished leather, were now scuffed sneakers. His hair was uncombed, and there was a distant look in his eyes, one she had never seen before. It was as though he had momentarily stepped into a different world, one where he lived a completely different life.

Catherine’s heart raced, her previous suspicions now churning into a mix of confusion and concern. Dylan quickly glanced around, seemingly ensuring no one was watching, and then hurriedly made his way to his SUV. Within moments, he had stripped off the shabby attire, revealing the familiar suit underneath. He stuffed the discarded clothes into the trunk of the battered sedan he had arrived in, locked it, and then finally got into his own SUV.

Catherine’s mind was racing. The events unfolding in front of her were beyond comprehension. What was he doing in that old car? Why was he dressed like that? A myriad of questions flooded her, each more baffling than the last.