Ugo slowly paced the length of the room. It was quiet small, a bit like a perch. Since the bulk of the building was upstairs, he did not have to walk too much to complete a stretch across the room. Rubbing his mouth tiredly, he motioned to the lady sitting in front of him, who was probably still fishing for words, to take a seat on the sofa. It was not exactly an order, but it had almost an equivalent force. She diligently took a seat as he had demanded. The clock was ticking disgustingly on the part of the wall behind her. He wondered why the ticking sound was all a sudden so obvious. Time seemed to be strolling too slowly. A dog barked outside, its voice hoarse and somber. It was almost like it was attempting to provide a background music for the scenery. A good director of a Hollywood movie would have used Yanni’s “Rite of passage” instead.
Ugo took another look at the woman. She was fiddling with her skirt in a rather naïve manner. He wanted to rip it off her waist for reasons rather obvious. He wanted to hurt her, he knew that. Probably slap her right across the face, but, he could not. He knew quiet well he could not. He assessed her countenance for a while, it was obvious from her indifferent look that she was planning on taking a stand of innocence. Should she plead innocent or not, he was already convinced as to the position of truth he was today. And she would be too or at least she would admit to the truth as it were, he would make sure of that. He asked her the question he has asked her at first when she had entered the house, though he knew she would provide the same answer. Maybe he was trying to test her resolve to lie.
“Who was that man you were with today, Sylvia?”
She did not reply for a while. It was like she was weighing her words, it was wise that she did. He was not too sure how much his gentlemanly side was going to prevail, he asserted, noticing his clenched fist for the first time.
“Ugo…..what is this about?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed. She was hardly successful. Rather she sounded unsure. Even the devil would be feeling insecure in this situation. “I already told you he is a friend from the office. We went to have lunch together. Why are you all worked up?”
“Damn it Woman, do not bullshit me. Friend from the office my foot. You were in a restaurant about a million miles away from your place of work with a man of about 60 something wearing the traditional “chief attire” on lunch break. What do you take me for? A fool? A simpleton?” he paused only to clear his mind a bit. He turned to the window and looked outside. The night was dark, dark and cold. It was around 10 o’clock in the night. The dogs were getting up to their business. Almost every house in this G.R.A area owns a dog, he noted subconsciously. He rested his head on his hand that he had placed gingerly on the window in a gesture of disappointment and spoke. This time very calmly. “For God’s sake we both know the jig is up Sylvia. There’s no secret anymore. I saw you kissing him when I followed you guys outside the restaurant, right before he entered his car and you went over to yours. Even a child would not mistake the gesture. Or were you waving the “friend” goodbye with your mouth?”
She hesitated a bit, probably shocked at what she had just heard. She then stalled for a while, still trying to read through his stance, hoping to see at least an iota of doubt in his countenance that she could at least work with should she offer any attempt to discredit his conviction...

To read the complete story, visit [https://legalwatchmen./2015/05/27/desperate-office-wife-part-1/]