A loose thread

It was the socks, in the end, that concluded their love story.

Betrayal: such a bitter word, seemingly so unjust when confronted with something so mundane as the laundry. Yet there they were, the dagger in her side, hiding in plain sight.

After years of marriage, she had thought her husband to know all her haunts and habits, specifically a hatred of bright accessories.

Perhaps the God's stirred up a neon pink concoction in their laboratory to warn her of his infidelity.

If not, the discovery of the other woman's gaudy socks so unlike her own was a remarkable coincidence.