Sig Orso sat in his favourite chair watching his pretty wife. She was different. Had a lightness in her step. A curve to her lips he’d not seen in an age.
In bed that night he found a single long golden hair. So he knew his raven haired wife had that day, had company there.
On his breakfast coffee cup he saw a smudge of lipstick in a shade his wife never wore. He knew then. Somebody had been drinking from his cup.
But rather than mention it he just enjoyed her buoyant mood.
And they lived happily ever after.