Today, around 11:00 AM, Clara returned home after a 4-month business trip.

She didn’t pick it up immediately. She held it for a few seconds, as if that simple object needed to become something more, an extension of what she felt.

“Of course… of course…” he murmured, almost voiceless.

The thoughts didn’t come in order. They tumbled over each other. Images, suspicions, memories that now seemed suspicious. How long? Since when? Who was that woman? In his bed? In his house?

He gripped the broom tighter.

The wood creaked slightly under his hand.

He went back to the hallway.

Every step was different now. They were no longer short. They were decisive. Hard. As if each footstep were an answer.

He stopped in front of the door.

His breathing was heavy.

He lifted the broom.

And right at that moment—