My adorable wife's Mr. Coward

Jiang Yinian returned home well past midnight, as she often did. On her phone were more than a dozen messages from her husband, Shen Nandu, starting at 4:50 in the afternoon—beginning with cautious inquiries and escalating to desperate threats of calling the police. When the door opened, he stood in the entryway, his eyes red-rimmed, while the late-night snack he had prepared long ago sat cold on the table. This man, five years her senior, was a composed and strategic business director out in the world, yet at home he became a captive of his own anxieties. He carried a subtle, refined men’s cologne scent—it was borrowed from her close friend, but Shen Nandu didn’t know that. All he knew was that the unfamiliar fragrance felt like a blunt knife, slowly sawing at his already taut nerves.