**Betrayal with a View from the Window**
Grace couldn’t settle—pacing the flat like a caged animal. Her husband’s recent behaviour gnawed at her. These past weeks, Daniel had become oddly attentive: tidying up, cooking elaborate dinners, bringing home flowers. Each gesture of care pricked at her suspicion. *He’s definitely guilty of something*, she thought, drifting to the window. Her gaze dropped to the street below—and her breath hitched. She jerked back. *Could he really do this?* she whispered, unable to unsee it.
Behind her, a voice cut through the silence. His wife—Eleanor.
Daniel stood by the window, watching Grace, their neighbour, walk her tiny terrier. Eleanor joined him, peering down before stiffening.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, frost creeping into her tone.
“Work,” he sighed, avoiding her eyes. “A colleague botched a project. Now I’m stuck cleaning up.”
She studied him. Something in his voice—the slight tremor—betrayed him. But she only nodded and vanished into the kitchen.
Daniel bristled. Lately, Eleanor grated on him—sharp, nitpicky. He’d sought warmth elsewhere. Found it in Grace. Quiet, smiling Grace, who lived alone just one floor up.
That evening, a power cut sent him home early. Restless, he wandered out. Grace was in the courtyard. He couldn’t resist—approached, conversation flowing. A café, then her flat.
Morning brought guilt thick as fog. Their wedding photo mocked him from the wall—young, besotted. He’d sworn *forever*. Now the word tasted like ash.
He cooked shepherd’s pie, Eleanor’s favourite. She returned tired but pleased, kissed his cheek. He smiled tightly, replaying the night in his head.
Days later, on his day off, he avoided Grace. Shame curdled in him. Yet he still ached for her. The moment Eleanor left for work, he was at Grace’s door.
Eleanor noticed the shift—his forced helpfulness, the distance. Then, catching him stealing glances at Grace through the window, the pieces clicked.
The row erupted in the kitchen.
“Are you sleeping with her?” she hissed, jabbing a finger toward the glass.
Daniel froze. Stuttered denials, but it was too late. She threw him out without hesitation.
“Go to her! Convenient, isn’t it? Just upstairs. Move in, then!”
He scrambled for words, but Eleanor was done. Gathering his things, his voice echoed on the landing:
“Grace… Can I stay? She kicked me out.”
Grace, startled, hesitated—then opened the door.
Eleanor’s tears weren’t from pain, but disgust. She’d expected a fight. Instead, he’d left. No struggle. No remorse.
*Better alone*, she decided, *than with someone who betrays so easily*. Tomorrow… she’d get a cat. Or a dog. At least they knew loyalty.
