Chapter 5: I Knew He Was Lying

Eleni was propped up against the hospital bed, her color much better than when she’d arrived.

“Kostas, I feel a lot better,” she said softly. “Don’t worry.”

Kostas sat in the plastic chair beside her bed. He just grunted in response, his eyes fixed on his phone.

He sent Romy a message.

“Are you asleep?”

When there was no reply, he sent another.

“I’m sorry about tonight. Things got out of hand.”

Eleni glanced at him.

“Is that Romy?”

Kostas nodded.

“She’s probably upset.”

Eleni lowered her eyes, looking suddenly guilty.

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you two.”

Kostas sighed.

“You didn’t.”

“She just overreacts sometimes.”

Eleni was quiet for a moment.

Then she whispered, “Maybe I should apologize to her.”

Kostas looked at her.

“You don't have to.”

A tiny smile appeared on Eleni’s lips.

“You always defend me.”

Kostas didn't answer.

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, expecting Romy’s name.

Instead, it was a message from the hospital nurse reminding him that Eleni's discharge papers would be ready soon.

He locked his phone again.

“You should rest.”

“I’ll take you home when the doctor clears you.”

Eleni reached for his hand.

“Kostas.”

He looked down at their hands.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“You didn't have to stay this late.”

He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course I did.”

Eleni smiled.

Neither of them noticed the nurse standing a few feet away, watching them with an expression that suggested she had seen this kind of closeness before.

Meanwhile, I was already halfway home.

My suitcase rolled behind me as I walked through the quiet streets.

I had left most of my belongings at Kostas’s apartment over the past year.

Little things at first.

A sweater in his closet.

A pair of shoes near the door.

My favorite mug in his kitchen.

A drawer filled with toiletries.

He had always encouraged it.

“You practically live here anyway,” he used to joke.

Tonight, I realized how foolish that had been.

I had been building a home inside a place where I wasn't even allowed through the front door.

When I reached my apartment, I set the suitcase down and sat on the edge of my bed.

My phone was still silent.

I opened the photo gallery instead.

There were hundreds of pictures of Kostas and me.

Birthdays.

Weekend trips.

Christmas dinners.

Lazy mornings.

I stopped at one photograph from last summer.

Kostas was smiling at the camera with one arm around my waist.

At the time, I had thought he looked happy.

Now I wondered whether he had simply learned how to look happy beside me.

I opened the hotel booking again.

The details were still there.

Three months ago.

One king bed.

Kostas and Eleni.

I zoomed in on the confirmation.

The reservation had been made under Kostas’s account.

But something else caught my attention.

The guest information showed Eleni’s full name and phone number.

This wasn't a mistaken booking.

It wasn't a coincidence.

They had planned it.

I scrolled farther down.

There was a second note from the hotel.

“Guest requested late checkout until 3:00 p.m.”

My fingers went cold.

Kostas had told me his business trip ended early that morning.

He had said he left the hotel at seven.

He had lied.

I put the phone down.

For several minutes, I simply stared at the wall.

Then I opened my messages and searched for the conversation from that weekend.

There it was.

“Good morning. Hope the meeting goes well.”

His reply had come two hours later.

“Still at the hotel. Long day.”

I remembered worrying about him.

I had even ordered breakfast to his hotel room.

He never mentioned that Eleni was there.

I scrolled farther.

At the bottom of the conversation, I found something I had completely forgotten.

A photo I had sent him.

It was a picture of the two of us from our first anniversary.

My caption had said, “Can't wait until we have a place of our own someday.”

Kostas had replied with a heart.

I stared at that heart now.

It felt almost insulting.

At 2:13 a.m., my phone finally rang.

Kostas.

I watched his name flash across the screen.

For the first time since we had started dating, I didn't feel the urge to answer immediately.

The phone stopped ringing.

A message appeared.

“Romy, please call me.”

Another message followed.

“We need to talk.”

I looked at the words for a long time.

Then I typed a reply.

“You're right.”

I paused before adding anything else.

“We do need to talk.”

I sent it.

But I didn't tell him what I had found.

Not yet.

For the first time, I wanted to hear his explanation before giving him the chance to prepare one.