I've busied myself refurbishing an old antique side table and it's going better than I predicted. I'm a couple of days ahead of schedule, which is why I've been doing basically nothing these past few days. But, I can only handle living a stagnant life for so long. Two days is pretty much my max before I have to leave the house or risk complete chaos breaking through in the form of me going wild.

Seth is the introvert and I'm pretty sure he basks in the quiet whenever I'm gone. He actually encourages it. I'm sure he does it as a way of not having to spend time entertaining me, but I can't help but think it's sweet. He knows I need activity and socialization, and he's glad to give it to me... as long as he doesn't have to be involved. So, I go hang with my girls while he watches ESPN with no other company except for his bowl of popcorn and a six-pack of Blue Moon.

I smile faintly just thinking about how opposite we are. I guess we're one of those couples that proves the 'opposites attract' cliche to be correct. Not that I'm complaining. I think we balance each other remarkably well... or, we did.

Running a hand over the freshly sanded wood, I take in the nearly finished product. I step back to admire my work and that's when I suddenly realize it's dark outside. I pull my phone from my pocket and instantly groan when I see the time. Dinner should have been made two hours ago. Washing my hands in the large industrial sink I had installed a couple of years ago, I begin the walk back inside.

It's then I realize the lights are on inside the house. It was still daylight when I'd left, and I'm pretty sure I hadn't turned any of them on. Which means only one thing...

Seth is home early... again. I find Seth is his usual spot on the couch as he watches Animal Planet. Just the few seconds that it takes me to walk past the TV has me wilting with boredom. People actually find pleasure in watching animal life prance around the wilderness. I don't know how he watches that stuff for hours, but who am I to judge. He probably views my beloved "House Hunters" show the same way. Though, there's no way for me to really know since we never actually talk about it.

He glances at me as I pass, offering a tight smile, before turning his gaze back to the herd of gazelles running for their lives. I watch in mild fascination as a lion leaps, sinking its teeth into one of the straggler's hind legs, bringing it down.

Hmm... guess I could get used to Animal Planet.

I enter the kitchen, flick on the light, and begin rummaging through the fridge. I'm so tired of our routine. I'd almost sell an arm just for the chance to go out for dinner. A date would be nice. I spend all day, every day, in a pair of sweats and oversized t-shirts. The chance to shave my legs and slip on a slinky dress sounds massively appealing. But I know Seth would never be down for that. Even when things were good with us, he always preferred to stay at home after a long day of work. Understandable, I guess, considering I'm pretty sure the term 'homebody' was invented after examining his lifestyle. He'd probably be glad to never leave the house again.

I'm doing a horrible job of making him sound like a desirable guy, but I promise he's not a bore. He has actually taught me a lot about being creative and learning to enjoy the peace and quiet of solitude. I can recall coming home from school one day to find that he'd ordered pizza and planned an entire evening of games. Hide and seek was one of them. Actually, that's the only game we got around to because anytime the hider was found, they had to pay a penalty. Which usually just meant the finder could request anything they wished.

My requests included: he had to massage my knees (I don't normally enjoy being touched, but touch my knees and I'll almost be tempted to worship you), he had to dye his hair vomit green, and he had to wear eyeliner to work the next day.

His requests included: well, let's just say they were all the same thing, and they all included the bed.

Sighing, I blink back the memory and throw a bag of tomatoes on the counter before setting a pan of water to boil.

"You hungry?" I yell, hoping Seth can hear me over the roar of the lions.

"Naw," he says. "I already ate."

Confused, I step towards the sink but find no dirty dishes. He never washes the dishes, and he most certainly wouldn't have dried and put them away either. I stand on my tiptoes, sneaking a glance out into the living room, but I find no stray dishes laying around.

"What'd you eat?" I ask, curiosity drilling angrily into my skull. I can feel something unpleasant brewing beneath my chest, and I'm doing everything in my power to control it.

"Went out with a client," he responds, not bothering to elaborate.

"Hm." I try not to sound angry, jealous, or suspicious, but my next question makes each of those emotions glaringly obvious. "Was it a woman?"

The house instantly goes quiet, and I glance up to find the TV's been shut off and Seth's turned to face me. A heavy sinking feeling plunges into my stomach.

"Are you serious?" he asks in disbelief as if my question is really so ridiculous. "You ask that as if you think my 'client dinner,'" He uses finger quotes, "was some kind of date."

If I'm not mistaken, he almost looks hurt by my assumption, but the fact that he's so shocked by my question irks me. I turn towards the stove, dumping half a packet of noodles into the almost boiling water. How can he be so surprised by my thoughts?

"You think I'm cheating on you." It's not a question. He knows it to be true already. But there's an edge of hopeful doubt in his words like he's wishing them not to actually be true. "Answer me, Mercy," he says, a warning tone tainting his words. "You think I'm cheating on you?"

"It's crossed my mind," I say quietly, my eyes staring at the bubbles dancing around the cooking noodles. A froth has begun to develop on the surface of the water and I grab a spoon to stir the pasta around.

Seth doesn't say anything for a while. The house is deadly quiet and I hate it. The only sound that echoes around us is the food cooking. I grab a cutting board and begin slicing tomatoes into cubes. I'm barely paying attention to my actions, and when tears begin to blur my vision, my knife slips. I can almost hear the nauseating sound of the blade sinking into the flesh of my thumb, and I throw the knife down, sucking a hiss between my teeth.

"Why would you think that?" I hear Seth ask. His voice sounds closer, like he's making his way to the kitchen. I almost stop what I'm doing just to analyze the near tenderness in his voice, but I don't. Blood is now running down my wrist, and I quickly turn towards the sink and let the water flow over the wound.

It looks deep and I know water's not going to do a whole lot of good, so I grab a dish towel, wrapping it around my thumb. I cradle my hand against my stomach when I hear Seth enter the kitchen. He's watching me. I feel his eyes searing into my back and I know that when I turn around he'll see all the evidence of my heartbreak written on my face.

I've done so well to hide it, but I'm too weary to care at the moment. When I feel his hand on my shoulder, my body melts and I want nothing more than to turn and bury myself against his solid body. Instead, I hold my ground, not wanting him to see how broken I am.

"What happened to us?" I choke out, dropping my chin to my chest in defeat.

I don't realize that I've soaked through the small towel until I hear my name leave Seth's lips with alarm.

"Mercy? What's going on?" He turns me around swiftly, his eyes wide with worry.

All I want is to revel in the fact that he appears concerned for me, but he doesn't give me a chance to. He's grabbing the towel covering my thumb and taking my hand in his before I can even comprehend what's happening. He hurries to run my blood-covered hand under more water, and I hear him breathe out a sigh of relief when he sees how small the cut actually is.

I take this moment to glance around, and that's when I spot the droplets of crimson on the floor. No wonder he was freaking out. I watch his jaw tighten as he stares at the blood swirling down the drain. He doesn't move, and neither do I. Before seeing those divorce papers, I probably would have pulled my hand from his grasp, not wanting him to think I was forcing my affection on him, but now I'm willing to do anything to show him I care.

So I tighten my fingers gently around his. It's the least significant action between a husband and wife, and yet, all kinds of desires are being awakened because of it. He watches me, his brows dipping in a way that makes me wonder if he's angry or feeling the same intense emotions that I am. There's no way to tell.

So I step closer.

Again, he doesn't move. He just stares and I get the feeling that he's confused by what I'm doing. Like all this time he thought I was incapable of showing affection. Feeling encouraged by the fact that he's not ripping himself from my grasp and fleeing out the front door, I slide my unwounded hand up his arm.

"Can we..." I don't finish the sentence, because, in all honesty, I'm not entirely sure what I'd planned to ask. Actually, that was the problem—I hadn't planned to ask anything. Those words just fluttered out of my mouth without my brain giving any kind of consent.

"Merc," he says, and for a moment I'm drowning in the beauty of my nickname coming from his lips. It's not until I see the fear dancing in his gaze that I realize that one word wasn't meant to be endearing—it was a warning. He was telling me to back off. I was crossing the line and he wasn't up for it.

I instantly drop my hand from his powerful forearm and watch in humiliated silence as he wraps a fresh towel tightly around my still bleeding thumb. He shuts off the water before turning back towards me.

"Hold that tight until it stops bleeding," he says, and for a minute he sounds like a doctor instructing a patient. There's no tenderness in his actions anymore—it's just a duty. He feels responsible for me, but he doesn't actually care if I bleed to death on the kitchen floor.

The tone in his voice hits me hard. He's treating me like he'd treat any poor soul off the street. His kindness no longer comes from the heart; it comes from obligation. He's just doing the right thing so he doesn't have to deal with the guilt later.

I don't even know how to react at this moment. I won't cry. My body won't let me. Maybe it's my pride, or maybe it's the fact that I've cried all the liquid from my body already, but I just stare at him. I know he sees the hurt on my face because I can almost see the regret on his, but he doesn't say anything.

I could easily ask him to leave the room, return to his show and leave me in peace, but I refuse to let this go while it's still so fresh. I can't just let him tear me apart over and over. So, instead of letting him off the hook to return to his show, I smile at him. It's not fake. My heart genuinely yearns for him to such an extent that I can't even pretend to hate him. I wait to see his reaction, but again, nothing. He just watches me, his eyes flickering with thoughts that I can't read. He was never this shielded before, and I'm wondering how after four years of marriage he's still such a mystery.

I want him to know that I appreciate his desire to take care of me, even if it wasn't out of love. So, I point towards the tomatoes awaiting the slaughter.

"Care to slice the rest of those up for me?" I'm not sure why such a simple request makes me feel so courageous, but it does. Maybe it's the fact that I know he won't turn me down—not when the woman responsible for feeding the beast in his stomach is temporarily crippled.

"Sure," he says softly.

Warmth begins to grow in my chest as I watch his shoulders flex from behind with each slice of the blade. He's powerful; there's no doubt about it. The saddest part about that observation is that I have no idea how powerful he really is. I haven't seen my husband's bare chest for several months. I'm positive there've been some changes. I can see the proof rippling beneath his shirt, and my hand is nearly itching with the desire to run my fingers over each defined muscle.

I tear my eyes away, hating myself for being so weak to his beauty. I want to not care as much as I do, but I can't help myself. My heart wants what it wants, and it's slowly breaking apart with the idea of never getting it.

As soon as the meal is prepared, I excuse myself and head towards my room. The tension was nearly lung-crushing and I'm ready to take a breather. Something about our conversation is eating at me. My stomach feels twisted and angry, and emotions are unraveling. I'm holding on to the last ounce of strength I have, but with each step, I can feel the burden weighing down heavier on my shoulders.

He asked if I thought he'd gone on a date. He asked me if I thought he was cheating. He asked me why I thought he would be cheating. And yet, he never answered my original question: Was it a woman?

He dodged my questions with questions of his own, and not once did he deny any of my suspicions. So now, my mind can't even pretend that they aren't possibilities. Instead of calming my fears, he's sparked them into a full blaze. He might very well be cheating on me with the woman he took on a business 'date.' I can't imagine why that wouldn't be true now. If someone's not being unfaithful, they usually do everything in their power to prove their innocence. But Seth just lets me believe whatever I want to believe. What does that say about him?

Can I trust my husband? Do I even know my husband?

I want to say yes to both questions, but as of today... I can't.