The Matcha Scent of His Betrayal

My ten-year marriage was a transactional lie, built on an astrologer's prophecy that my chart would ensure my husband's success. But on my birthday, he abandoned me to take his young intern, Anais, to the sci-fi festival I' d dreamed of for years.

He came home smelling of her sweet matcha perfume, a green hair tie and a festival souvenir tucked in his pocket. He called me dramatic, said she was "fragile" and needed him.

At our anniversary gala, meant to be his grand apology, I watched him kiss her passionately on the terrace during the fireworks display.