The Chief Surgeon's Payback

I came home after a brutal overnight shift at the hospital to find my husband in the kitchen, cooking pasta.

He was a senior software engineer at a tech firm, usually working crazier hours than me, but today he had miraculously taken the day off.

"You must be exhausted, babe. Have some food to recharge," he said with an unusually tender smile.

I took the bowl, but caught a whiff of a scent on his cuff that definitely didn't belong to me.

It was a sickly sweet designer perfume—the kind made to trap men.