Every time Daniel touched his phone, her chest tightened. Every time she heard it buzz at night, she thought of that name. Claraara. Days passed, but Daniel never mentioned the soup again. He acted as if nothing had happened. That was his way. Pretend the violence never took place. shift blame and move forward as if she were the problem for remembering. But Emily remembered.

She remembered every word, every blow, every whisper of my queen Claraara. One evening, as she ironed his shirts, she caught a faint scent. Sweet, floral, expensive. Not hers. She didn’t own perfume like that. She pressed the fabric to her nose again. The smell clung stubbornly, mocking her. Her heart sank. Perfume? she whispered to herself. Daniel walked in just then.

She quickly set the shirt aside. “Where’s dinner?” he asked flatly. “Almost ready,” Emily answered, forcing her voice steady. He didn’t notice her trembling hands. He rarely noticed anything about her anymore. That night, he claimed he had a business meeting. He wore the same shirt she had ironed, the one with the perfume scent.

Emily watched him leave, her mind swirling. business. At 900 p.m. with perfume that didn’t belong to her, she couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, waiting for the sound of his car. At 2:00 a.m., headlights flashed across the window. He walked in humming softly, smiling to himself. He didn’t even look guilty. The next morning, Sophie came by.

“Emily,” she said warmly, pulling her into a hug. Sophie smelled faintly of the same perfume. I just thought I’d stop by and see you. Emily forced a smile. Sophie had been her friend since childhood. They had shared secrets, laughter, and tears. Sophie was the one who always told her to stay strong, the one who cheered her wedding the loudest.

“Sit,” Emily said softly, serving tea. Sophie took a sip and looked at her carefully. “You look tired. Is everything okay?” Emily hesitated, then asked, “Sophie, do you know anyone named Claraara?” For a second, just a second. Sophie’s eyes flickered. Then she smiled. “Clara, number. Why?” I heard Daniel say her name. Emily admitted. Late at night, he called her.

His queen Sophie reached across the table, squeezing Emily’s hand. “Emily, men say many things. Maybe you misheard. Don’t let your imagination run wild. Daniel loves you. Be patient with him. Men have their moods. Emily nodded weakly, but inside her suspicion deepened. Later that night, when Daniel fell asleep, she crept into the living room and checked his phone.

His messages were locked, but one call history stood out. Claraara saved under a fake name. Dozens of calls every day. Emily’s heart pounded. Claraara was real. Claraara wasn’t just in her head. But who was she? The answer came sooner than she expected. A week later, Emily attended a church event. She spotted Sophie across the hall, laughing with Daniel in a corner.

He leaned in close, whispering something that made her smile. Sophie touched his arm lightly the way only lovers do. Emily froze. Her stomach dropped. Claraara wasn’t a stranger. Claraara wasn’t some mysterious woman. Claraara was Sophie. Sophie’s middle name. The one she rarely used.

Her closest friend, her confidant, the woman who sat in her kitchen and told her to be patient. Emily felt the room spin. Betrayal wrapped itself around her throat like a rope. She didn’t confront them then. She couldn’t. Her legs were shaking. Her voice stuck in her chest. She turned and left quietly. tears blurring her vision. When she got home, she locked herself in the bathroom again, staring at her reflection. “Sophie,” she whispered.

“You.” The knife of betrayal cut deeper than Daniel’s fists ever had. The days that followed felt like a nightmare Emily couldn’t wake from. Sophie still visited, smiling, laughing, hugging her as if nothing had changed. Every touch felt like poison. every word like a dagger wrapped in sugar.

“Emily, don’t look so sad,” Sophie said one afternoon as she sat on the couch. “Cheer up, Daniel’s a good man. Not perfect, but he loves you. Don’t give up on him.” Emily forced a weak smile, her hands gripping her skirt tightly. “Loves me. The same man who called Sophie my queen in the dark.

The same man who looked at Emily like she was dirt under his shoes. Every time Sophie spoke, Emily wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue. She couldn’t reveal what she knew. Not yet. One evening, Margaret, Daniel’s mother, came over. She never needed an invitation. “Emily,” she said sharply, walking into the kitchen without so much as a greeting. “Why is this house so plain?” “My son deserves better.