They say that the deepest cuts come from the ones you hold closest to your heart. But I never expected my husband to be the one holding the knife while another woman twisted it in deeper.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?
_______
“I'm sorry, ma’am, but I can’t find your boarding details,” the woman at the airport counter explained.
“What?” I asked, blinking as the attendant handed back my passport. “That can't be possible. My husband booked this flight—it’s our anniversary.”
The attendant peered at me sympathetically. “I’ve checked every possible spelling. There’s no Ariana Carter booked for any flight to Miami today or tomorrow.”
My voice trembled. “Are you sure? My husband even sent me the boarding pass last night. He said he’d meet me on the plane...”I fumbled through my phone, pulling up the ticket app. Flight 254 to Miami, two seats side-by-side—our first real vacation together in ages.
I’m Ariana Carter, married to Misha for three years. We’ve been passionate from the start, though lately he’s been distant—CEO duties at Carter Tech demand everything from him. I’ve put my career on hold to support him, to build a family, and now, three years later, although we’ve lost some of the passion lately, we’re still hoping for that miracle.
“Wait...” I frowned, scrolling. “Just give me a minute.”
A man behind me groaned, waving his ticket. “Get outta line! We’re gonna miss the flight!”
Raising a hand to silence him, I quickly found the boarding pass and showed it to the attendant. “See? Flight 254, seat E3, first class.”
Her face softened, though her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That seat was transferred to someone else about two hours ago. She picked up her ticket earlier.”
I froze, zooming in on my phone. My reservation wasn’t in my name anymore.
“Ticket transferred to Mavis Sanderson,” I whispered, my chest tightening. “Mavis...my husband’s secretary.”
She’s been working in Misha’s office for just over a year now, and she’s never made a mistake, not one. She’s one of the most organized people I’ve ever met. Without her, my husband might forget to take breaks or eat lunch.
But as I say this, a stormcloud of doubt gathers over my head, darkening my thoughts. I gazed up and the flight attendant gave me a sad, knowing look. Apologizing again, I moved away from the ticket counter and found a quiet place to call my husband.
After three rings, Misha finally picked up.
“Ari,” he said quickly, breathless, as if he were walking. “This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of something important.”
The way he said it made my stomach sink.
“Misha, please,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m at the airport. There’s a problem with my ticket.”
There was a pause. Just a fraction of a second too long.
“What kind of problem?” he asked.
“They say there’s no ticket under my name,” I explained. “The boarding pass you sent last night—it was transferred. It says the seat belongs to Mavis now.”
Silence.
And then, a soft, unmistakably feminine laughter rang out in the background. My fingers tightened around my phone. “Is someone with you?”
“Of course there is,” Misha replied impatiently. “I told you, I’m busy today.”
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. “Are you...are you already on the plane?”
“I’m at the gate,” he said. In the background, I heard the clink of glassware, and a woman’s voice asking if he wanted a drink. “Listen, Ari, there’s no time to sort this out right now.”
“Misha,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “It’s our anniversary. This is our anniversary trip.”
He exhaled sharply, like I was exhausting him. “I know. And I’m sorry. But things changed.”
“Changed how?” I asked.
“Mavis needed to come,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’s been working nonstop on the grant application. She deserves a break.”
The words landed slowly, one by one.
“So...you’re taking her,” I said. “Instead of me. Your wife?”
“Don’t twist this into something it’s not,” he replied. “Mavis will help you book a flight for tomorrow. Today, the two of us are leaving the office together. Don’t overthink it, okay? You’re being dramatic.”
Dramatic.
“There are no other flights,” I said quietly. “No open seats. I checked.”
“Well,” he said, distracted, “Then wait for me to get back. It won’t be long— I promise I’ll make it up to you with an even better trip in a week.”
He said it so lightly—like he was rescheduling a dinner reservation. Like it meant nothing at all.
“Misha,” I asked, my voice barely holding together, “did you even think to tell me?”
“I was going to,” he said, too quickly. “It just...slipped my mind.”
Holding my head up to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, I stared blurry-eyed at the departure screen.
This wasn’t the first time he’d brushed me off lately.
To be honest, this trip was the last chance I was giving him.
“Ari,” he added, lowering his voice, “can we not do this right now? You know how stressful things are for me.”
“Have fun on your trip,” I laughed bitterly, hanging up before he could respond.
******
Leaving the airport, I headed straight to our penthouse in Manhattan and as soon as the elevator opened to our floor, I slammed open the door and in a rush, I grabbed everything that belonged to me leaving nothing behind–not even a toothbrush. I tore our wedding photo from the frame, the glass splintering under my fingers and threw them with a shattering smash into the garbage chute.
Three years of love scattered across the floor like the shards of a promise I finally stopped believing in.
The distance he’d kept these past two months suddenly made sense. And with his own hands, he erased the very last good image I still had of him.
Wiping my eyes, I stepped over the mess just as my phone rang.
“Hello, is this Ariana Carter?” a bright voice greeted me on the other end. “This is Sharon with Haven Medical Group. I’m calling to see if you are still considering our offer.”
A week ago, I received an unexpected email from a prestigious hospital on the West Coast, offering me a fully-funded research position. One of my mentors from school had floated my name as a potential candidate. The offer was very generous–enough to start a new life.
I was so in love with Misha, so sure of our future, that I disregarded the unwanted offer, placing the message in my junk folder.
But now, what do I have to lose? I’ve already lost everything.
“Yes, I have considered your offer,” standing a bit straighter, I added, “And I’m ready to accept. I can be in San Francisco by tomorrow.”
“Your ticket has been sent to you,” Sharon promises. “Welcome aboard. We all have heard such great things about you. We can’t wait to get started.”
“Neither can I,” I said as I hung up. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
I’m done waiting for Misha. Never again.
I’m ready to live my own life, this time for myself.
2.
You might be wondering why a single mix-up with a plane ticket was enough to make me lose all hope in my husband
The thing is, it wasn’t just one mistake. This ticket was the last mistake, his last chance to prove his love.
But for this to make sense, we need to go back one more month…
[ONE MONTH AGO]
“Welcome home,” I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Misha paused by the door, loosening his tie as he exhaled. “Hey,” he said, his voice tired but gentle. “It was a long day.”
He leaned in to kiss my cheek—brief, familiar, practiced—before slipping off his shoes.
“I just need a quick shower,” he added. “Then I’m all yours.”
I nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. “Of course.”
Like most evenings lately, everything about him felt rushed, compressed into the small spaces left over after work. Carter Tech was expanding overseas, and the pressure had been relentless. Late nights. Endless meetings. Too many responsibilities resting on his shoulders
I told myself this distance between us was temporary. That it was only stress that has changed his mood. Being here, waiting for him, caring for him–this is how I support him now.
But when he isn’t here, the penthouse feels painfully empty, every room echoing with a quiet I never quite get used to.
We’ve been married for three years. I walked away from a promising career in medicine to support his ambitions, manage our home, and to build the family we always talked about.
But how can we build that family if he’s not here?
When Misha returned in clean sweats, his earlier tension seemed to melt away. He smiled, softer this time, becoming the kind, charismatic husband I had missed
“Smells amazing,” he said, pulling out a chair.
Dinner was easy. Comfortable. We laughed, shared the highs and lows of our day. It felt good being together like this, and by the time we made it over to the couch to watch our movie and relax, we had found our old rhythm.
Just like old times.
His hands played over the length of my legs as I draped them across his lap and reached over to grab a mint from the coffee table. Misha reached over a moment later for his post dinner cigarette. I’ve always hated that he smoked. It’s a disgusting unhealthy habit–one that I’ve begged him to give up so many times over the years, but he refused, saying it made him feel “macho.”
“What kind of man would I be if I let you talk me out of this?” he had scoffed at me the last time I had mentioned it. “Seriously, Ari, there are worse vices. I’ve given up so much for this marriage, let me keep this one thing.”
He had been so irritated that I never mentioned it again. He even laughed at me when I mentioned how cigarettes lower his sperm count, making it harder for us to have a baby, and told me I was being ridiculous.
But this time, when he reached for the pack on the table, his hand grazed over it, to take one of the mints from the small dish.
“You quit smoking?” I commented casually, noting the change in a flat, even tone.
“Yeah, and,” he snorted as he popped the candy into his mouth. “Didn’t you say you hated the smell?”
“Yes,” my lips curled with amusement, “I mean, I say it all the time. But you’ve never listened. What changed?”
He paused, his body going very still before he answered, “Why do you assume something had to change?”
“I just…” He sounded so defensive, so offended. Did I say something wrong? “I didn’t mean it like that, Misha, I’m just surprised. Happy, but surprised."
Inhaling, he closed his eyes, a small smile playing across his lips as his fingers played with the candy wrapper. “Someone told me it would shorten my life.”
“Who told you that?” I grinned, waiting for him to say it was me.=
But instead he replied. “I told you, a friend. Oh and my doctor. I guess he finally got through to me,” he shrugged, as if all the times I told him had meant nothing. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal, Ari. Aren’t you glad?”
He’s right, I should have been happy.
But I wasn’t. Maybe it was something in his tone, but his words felt heavy in my chest. Something felt…off.
“Of course I’m happy,” I replied brightly, letting the topic drop as he pulled me into his chest.
Only for me to pull back a second later, my nose scrunched in surprise. He’s always used the same body wash, the same woodsy scent since before I knew him. My dependable, lovable husband can also be stubborn and inflexible when it comes to his everyday routines.
“You changed your body wash?” I asked, pushing against him to clear my head from an overpoweringly herbal scent–a mix of flower and…eucalyptus?
“Oh, it's nothing." Misha scrunched his nose, "I just picked this up from the store on the way home from work.”
Not once, in the entire time I’ve known Misha, has he ever done his own shopping. He was born rich, and even in college he had others run his errands. Now that I think of it, I don’t think he’s ever stepped foot inside a store. “Since when do you buy your own toiletries?”
His eyes flickered, just for a second, his face going blank as if thinking, before shifting into his usual, carefree smile. “There’s a new store next to the office. A coworker dragged me there during lunch. No big deal.”His words were practical, they even made sense if they hadn’t been coming from Misha. My husband wasn’t the type of person to let anyone drag him anywhere. He’s always the one in charge, and he has no problem setting firm boundaries when he doesn’t want to do something. I’ve gone to enough charity events and family functions alone to know that he won’t.
And now, it seems, his coworkers have somehow magically changed his disposition, just like a “friend” got him to stop smoking.
What kind of friend did he have if he could make him suddenly change his mind when his wife never could? Could it be another woman?
No. Misha would never betray me that way.
Something must have shown on my face, because Misha then leaned in, kissing the wrinkle between my brows. “I’m sorry,” he said, “for being in such a snappy mood. You know I’ve been stressed. Hey,” his lips perked up into a scintillating smirk, the look that always drove me absolutely mad with desire, reminding me how lucky I was to have snagged the hottest guy on campus, “why don’t we stop talking and do other things with our lips?”
That night, we didn’t even make it to bed. We made love on the couch, our old favorite movie playing in the background, as he made me forget the budding distrust growing in my heart.
Misha loved me. He always has. He always will.
3.
The next morning I woke up suddenly, confused and blinking, a sound from the next room startling me awake. The still-warm sheets let me know that Misha was still around. Usually he’d be gone by now, or nudging me awake to make him breakfast, but today he let me sleep in. Smiling, I thought of our night together. We made love like newlyweds, and as I uncurled my body, I could feel the ache of his attention in every sore muscle.
As I took my first, deep breath, the inviting aroma of freshly-brewed coffee blended with the sizzling flavor of melting butter awakened my hunger. Curious, I rolled over and slipped my feet into soft slippers.
Of all the things I had imagined I’d find, I hadn’t been expecting to find my husband wearing an apron over his fine suit as he stood in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with careful, practiced precision.
“Good Morning, Angel,” my husband called over his shoulder at my approaching footsteps. “Breakfast’s ready.”
Misha, a man who has sworn for years that he doesn’t know how to start the coffee pot, was to my utter shock, flipping pancakes like a pro while humming a light-hearted melody. Mesmerized, I watched the dance of his graceful motions as another pancake landed on top of a small, perfectly-crisped, golden-brown stack.
I can’t remember a time when he ever made me breakfast. It was so romantic that my heart flipped as a smile stretched from ear to ear and I said, “It smells amazing in here,” as I reached over with a fork.
“Stop!” Misha blocked my hand with the spatula, tapping my wrist. “Sorry Ari, these aren’t for you.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I made you oatmeal.” He nodded towards a simmering pot in the corner of the stove. “Oh, and you can have some of the leftover strawberries, if you’d like.”
Confused, I withdrew my hand. “Oatmeal?” I asked, pointing at the pancakes, “didn’t you make those for me?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Oh, no, these are for one of my coworkers. You wouldn’t like them, they’re too sweet.”
I love sweet things. Especially strawberries. After three years of marriage, I was surprised and hurt that he didn’t remember that. When we went out to breakfast together, he was the one eating something savory, like eggs, leaving the “breakfast pastries,” to me.
Strawberry pancakes were one of my favorite treats.
Which is why I was so surprised when he then upturned the entire dish of sliced and sugared strawberries, the one he had just offered to me, into a small container, sealing them tight and handing me the dirty bowl with a couple of small slivers of fruit remaining.
“Here you go,” he offered, nodding again towards the simmering pot. “There should be enough left there to flavor the oats.”
I tried to smile, but the best I could manage was a thin-lipped grin as Misha turned to gently layer his artfully-made breakfast inside of an insulated bag.
Reluctantly, I lifted the lid of the oatmeal pot and did my best not to curl my lip at the disgusting, grayish mash. I’ve never liked oatmeal.
I was half-way to convincing myself that if I add enough cream and sugar to my cup of coffee, the oatmeal might be almost palatable, when Misha reached around me again, nudging me out of the way.
“Excuse me,” Misha grabbed the full, fresh pot of coffee and then, as I watched in horror, poured the entire carafe inside a large thermos which he placed in the insulated bag with everything else–Leaving coffee grounds and crumbs as the only remnant of the beautiful meal he had made. A meal I thought he had made for me, for us, to share.
I guess I was wrong.
“I’ll see you after work,” Misha grinned over his shoulder, oblivious to the aching worry climbing its way up my chest from the depths of my tender, confused heart.
This man, who has always found cooking to be “a chore,” just spent his morning making pancakes with strawberries, to share with somebody else.
A coworker.
“I might be late,” he said as he almost danced to the door, as graceful and carefree as a young man in love. ”Don’t wait up.”
Don’t wait up.
*****
They say that hindsight is 20/20, and looking back now, all the signs of what would come next were there to see. But back then, like a little girl with her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers jammed in her ears as she denied her ability to perceive what was right in front of her, I was too stubbornly blind to see what was right in front of me.
And so I spent the morning unable to explain why my heart was unsettled until a few hours later, Julia Carter’s name blinked across the screen. My mother-in-law was getting older, and managing her house had become more and more of a chore. As a way to smooth over relations between us, soon after Misha and I were married, I began helping out around Carter Manor.
Yes, they have extensive staff to manage most of the minor daily things–like washing dishes and polishing floors–but Julia Carter was very…particular. She liked things done a certain way, and preferred to do much of the household work herself.
Or she did, until I married her son. Now she has me to order around.
“Why aren’t you here, Ariana?” Julia snapped before I could even say hello, her elegant voice sharp and cutting. “I expected you here hours ago. Just because my son supports you doesn’t mean you get to spend all day playing games on your computer and neglecting your responsibilities to this family,” she huffed, exasperated as she added, “No wonder you never finished school. You lack the work ethic.”
Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled slowly as she continued her rant. I’ve tried telling her in the past that I’m taking online courses to finish my post-graduate work, but Julia never believed me.
To say that Julia Carter and I do not get along would be an understatement–she’s hated me from the first moment Misha brought me home after our elopement. It had been a huge disappointment to Julia that her only son, the family’s golden boy, had “lowered himself” to marry the “gold-digging daughter of a second-rate businessman.” She had hoped he’d marry up, find an appropriate companion from an exclusively small list of equally impressive families, and begin having children immediately to continue and enhance the Carter line.
Julia wanted this future so badly for her son, that when Misha and I returned home after our honeymoon in Napa, she prepared a “welcome home party” that had included an almost all-female guest list that read like a “who’s who” of New York elite between the ages of 18-30.
That night, when we arrived at the celebration together, she feigned shock, seeming offended that he had brought an “uninvited” guest. Then, instead of welcoming her son’s new wife as a daughter, rather than introduce herself, she ignored me, turned to her son, and asked, “Is she pregnant?”
I’m still not sure if she was more or less disappointed to hear that I wasn’t. Three years later, things have remained tense between us, no matter how hard I try to show her how much I care about her son and our family.
“Are you still there, Ariana?” Julia’s crisp voice rings through my ear. “I said…”
“I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” I promised, hanging up quickly before she spent another 15 minutes complaining. Knowing Julia, she’s already set a timer just to see if I’d keep my word.
At this time of day, there wasn’t any traffic, and I expected the ride to be uneventful. Except that as I marched towards my car, I remembered that I had forgotten to stop for gas before reaching home.
Thankfully, parked right next to my small coupe was Misha’s weekend car, the BMW convertible he likes to drive when he has enough time to enjoy the ride. I had the spare key that he gave me for emergencies, one that I have used maybe once or twice during our entire marriage. While this wasn’t technically an emergency, my stomach twisted when I thought of how insufferable Julia would be if I delayed another 10 minutes just to get gas.
My hands brushed the fine, heated leather as the car purred to life. Adjusting myself, my body felt strange. It took me a moment to realize why–the seat was in the wrong spot. Usually, Misha has it adjusted for his height of 6’2”. A few clicks on the seat adjuster is usually enough for me to get it down to my height, 5’8”.
But today, my knees are almost touching the steering wheel. The seat has already been adjusted–Not to my height, but to someone much shorter.
“Maybe he let one of his co-workers borrow the car,” I mused aloud. It is a probable conclusion, except that I know my husband and how particular he is about his things. He never lets anyone borrow his cars, especially not this car.
I didn’t have time to make sense of it now. I pressed the button to adjust the seat, but it didn’t move. Frowning, I pressed it again and heard a crunch, like foil being folded. Startled, I stepped out of the car and kneeled down to look at the mechanism.
Jammed in between the seat and the gears was a shining piece of gold foil.
Carefully I unwedged it. The foil is ornate, shaped like a flower, at the end of which is a delicate hook. It’s an earring. I don’t remember having a pair that looks like this. Using my hand, I search for another, just in case.
And that’s when I felt something that made my chest tighten and my stomach flip. Scraped along the carpet of the floor mat are long, thin divots–as if it had been stabbed repeatedly by stiletto heels.
I never wear stilettos. I hardly ever wear heels if I can avoid it. And never, ever when driving a car.
“It could have been caused by anything,” I sighed as I shook my head. “I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
But as I pulled the car out of the garage, an unwanted image flashed through my mind. I saw a woman sitting in this car sitting exactly where I am, her delicate hands holding the steering wheel as Misha smiles at her, praising her driving. They pull over, and Misha reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt pauses, his mouth inches above hers. She licks her lips and he kisses her, leaning the seat backwards as he lifts her skirt. She grinds her heels, as he nestles between her legs and…
4.
No.
Misha would never cheat on me. He couldn’t.
As I pulled into the long drive leading to his mother’s house. My heart beat faltered, my chest tight like someone had stabbed me and left my body pinned to the seat of the car. Closing my eyes, I exhaled slowly before opening the door and stepping out to face the large mansion at the end of the drive. I can’t let these dark thoughts affect me. Today is going to be hard enough as it is.
Rolling my shoulders, I walked towards the house. As soon as the front door glides open, the elegant trill of laughter draws my attention to the nearby sitting room. From the sudden elevated quality of their conversation, it is obvious that they intended me to hear every word they are saying.
“Oh Lena, It’s tragic really,” a silver spoon chimed against fine porcelain as my mother-in-law bemoaned her fate. “Three years and she’s still barren. Our family has tolerated her presence and for what–no child, no degree, no career,” she huffed, “What a disappointment.”
“It’s a shame, really,” Lena agrees eagerly with her mother, her catty words loud as she delicately crunches a bit of avocado toast. “If Misha’s first love hadn’t left the country you’d already be a grandmother…”
“It takes two people to make a baby,” I reminded them as I entered the room. I’ve been so patient with this family over the years, hoping that if I showed how devoted to Misha, that they’d eventually forgive us for the sin of eloping without her permission. “And Misha needed time to recover after the accident. I’ve been helping him regain his health and now we’re finally ready to try and I…”
“You, help?” Lena mocked with a delicate snort. “You aren’t even a real doctor. Mom, can you believe how she’s blaming Misha for her fertility? If she really loved him, she’d be pregnant by now.”
Bitting my tongue I held back my retort for the sake of peace. They didn’t know that I just finished my medical doctorate from Columbia. Julia is still convinced that I’m playing video games at home when I’ve been using all of my “spare time” on nights and weekends to complete my degree fulfilling my final promise to my father to see my degree through to the end. He had been devastated when he learned I was leaving school to be Misha’s wife.
At the time, Misha had just been in a car accident and was being treated at the hospital where I was interning. I was the only one who could stay with him around the clock. The price I paid was missing my required coursework and falling behind on my mandatory classes…
But I still promised my father that after I got married, I would find the time to finish my studies—and I’m proud that I kept that promise, even though my father is no longer here.
Thinking of his passing, my eyes reddened.
I’m only here because I love Misha, but I’m little more than a slave to her. She’s never treated me like a daughter.
Today, I’ve finally had enough.
Clenching my fists, I took a step I should have taken years ago. “Since I’m so worthless, I’m sure you won’t mind that I won’t be coming here anymore. I’m sure Misha can hire someone to help you with the housework.”
Julia’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lift in surprise as Lena covers her mouth in shock with a delicate, well-manicured hand. “How ungrateful…” Julia began to rant.
But I didn’t wait to hear what she had to say next.
If after three years I’m not good enough, I’ll never convince them to treat me with respect. Turning on my heel, I walked out, their outraged voices following me as I marched out the door.
*******
As satisfying as it was to leave Julia and Lena to their vicious talk, the unsettled feeling from my earlier discovery wouldn’t rest. Instead of returning home, I took the offramp towards downtown, using my phone’s GPS to guide me to a car accessory store.
“I’d like to purchase a dash cam,” I smiled at the shop assistant when she asked me if I needed help. “I think someone’s been using my car.”
“I know just the model,” the woman looked at me conspiratorily. “Perfect for capturing…indescretions.”
I opened my mouth to counter her assumptions, to let her know that it wasn’t like that, to clear up any misunderstanding she might have. But I couldn’t. The words fell silent before a sound could escape my lips.
Instead I nodded, accepting her help, and after a quick swipe of my credit card and a brief assembly, a discrete camera was placed within the dashboard, just behind the steering wheel. You’d have to know what you were looking for to see it.
Just as the technician finished up, my phone rang. Looking at the number I smiled. It was Allison, my best friend.
“Girly, it’s been forever since we’ve hung out,” she gushed, her effervescent personality lifting my spirits. “I’m in town again and I was wondering if you were free for a bit of retail therapy.”
Allison came from old money, and her trust fund financed a number of escapades when we were still living together in college. Her carefree nature had been a nice balance to my more serious one. I’ve been so focused on my new married life, as she was has on her career, that we’ve seen each other less than a handful of times in the last three years.
But even though I’ve missed my friend terribly, my heart wasn’t in it. “Maybe another time,” I swallowed, suddenly on the verge of tears, “I’m not really in the mood.”
Catching the sadness in my voice, Allison’s voice softened. “Oh Ari, what’s wrong?”
“Oh it’s nothing,” I tried to lighten my tone, adding false brightness to my words. “It’s just that Misha has been acting strangely. I’m sure it’s nothing I just…”
Before I could stop myself every small moment of doubt, every petty suspicion, came tumbling out of me. And as much as it was a relief to voice my concerns, I also felt guilty, like even thinking these things were a betrayal of my love for my husband.
“Am I being crazy,” I finally asked, needing someone’s validation for my fears. “I mean, I’m being irrational, imagining the worst, I..”
“Ari,” Allison stopped me, “You are the most rational person I know. And to be honest, everything you said does sound suspicious,” she admitted. “But,” my friend paused, “You don’t have any proof yet.”
Sighing, I realized she was right. It’s too early to assume the worst.
“But…” she added, “when you do, let me know. I’ll punch him in is stupid, perfect face.”
Imagining my small, spunky friend punching my husband in my defense made my lips curl with amusement. “I’ve missed you, Ally.” I laughed.
“I’ve missed you more,” she replied in our old familiar way. “You better call me back!”
Promising to catch up later, we hung up, and for several more minutes I stood there, holding my phone to my chest, my spirits so much lighter. It felt good hearing that my old friend has my back. Just knowing there was someone out there who still loved me made my silent ache a little more bearable.
The rest of the day went quickly. And following a suggestion from Allison, I decided to treat myself to a little pampering. “I get it, you don’t feel like hanging out, but you should still do something for yourself.”
So after stopping at a nearby bookstore and buying one of those romantasy novels Misha thought were “absolute nonsense,” I followed my nose to a Szechuan restaurant a couple blocks away. My husband prefers bland foods, but I love a bit of spice. After three years of denying myself, I was craving kung pao chicken.
No, I was craving life. A life where the only person I needed to please was me.
Taking the leftovers home for dinner, I was determined to spend the rest of my day drinking wine and reading smut.
But when I got home, to my surprise, Misha was already there. The bathroom door was closed, the sound of rushing water telling me that he was in the shower after a hard day of work.
“So much for that plan,” I sighed, looking down at my bags full of trashy books and delicious Chinese food.
Turning to leave the room, Misha’s phone buzzed. Looking up, I saw a new message notification flashing across the screen. Expecting it to be work, I’m surprised when I see an unlisted number.
“That’s strange,” I mused quietly, “Who would be texting him from an unlisted number?”
Misha and I have nothing to hide from one another. We often answer each other's phones, especially when he’s busy. Picking up his phone, it prompts me for a password. And I type it in swiftly, knowing it by heart.
It’s my birthday. He wanted it to be easy, in case of an emergency. “What if something happened and you didn’t have your phone. I want to make sure you are always protected.”
And yet, when I typed in the same numbers he showed me that day three years ago, the words “Incorrect password,” flashed across the screen like a slap to the face.
“I must have typed it wrong,” I mumbled, convinced I was mistaken. Trying again, I typed it slowly, making sure to get each number correct. “09…24…”
“Incorrect password,” It flashed again, making my heart jump. Trying two more times I gave up after the system warned that another attempt would lock the phone.
I know I didn’t type it wrong.
There’s only one possibility.
Misha changed his password.
5.
Staring at the phone, I was unable to process what was happening.
Why had Misha changed his password without telling me?
As I stood there puzzled, the mysterious caller kept sending more messages.
Misha’s phone always shows a small preview of each time he receives a text. This time his phone chimes and the preview read, “Do you like my new lingerie?”
The next message, from the same number, was several linked pictures followed by another short sentence of text. “What do you think? Is this sexy enough?”
I couldn’t see the image, but I didn’t need to.
The blood drained from my hands leaving me cold as the truth sunk in: Misha was cheating on me.
My hands were hands shaking with anger by the time Misha came out of the bathroom, steam curling around his mostly naked body.
“Hey, Angel,” he grinned when he noticed me, “Welcome home…”
I looked up, and Misha froze, the next words falling silent as his eyes met mine. “What’s wrong, Ari? Did something happen?”
I struggled to keep my voice even as I held up his phone and asked, “Who is she?”
Stepping forward, Misha’s eyes narrowed, and then widened, before snatching the phone from my hand. Unlocking it, he pressed the call button, putting his phone on speaker.
“Hello?” a woman’s gentle voice rang across the phone. “Ba…”
“Mavis,” Misha snapped as soon as the line connected. “What kind of game are you playing? This is company time! I don’t pay you to behave like a prostitute!”
Misha’s chest heaved, his face red as his loud breathing filled the room. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him this angry before. We both stood there, the silence stretching, as the two of us glared at the phone in his hands,
“OH MY GOD! Boss I’m so sorry,” Mavis blurted out. “I meant to send that to my boyfriend. It was an accident, I swear.”
“Accident or not, this shouldn’t have happened,” Misha’s face hardened into an unreadable mask as he added, “and if you ever do something like this again, you’re fired. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir! I’m so sorry!” Mavis responded in a rush. “It’ll never happen again!”
The phone call disconnected leaving the two of us alone in a quiet room.
Sighing, Misha tossed the phone onto the foot of the bed. “See, Ariana, it was just a simple mistake. Did you really think that because of those messages I was betraying you?”
His attitude eased some of my suspicions, but I still frowned as I asked, “Then why did you change your password?”
“Oh, is that what this is?” Stepping closer, he reaches out a hand to smooth away a strand of my hair. “We had a data breach at work and our security team required everyone to change their password. The new code is our wedding anniversary. Want me to show you?”
Retrieving the phone, he held it between us as he slowly punched in the date of our wedding. “Here, you try,” Misha encouraged, turning the phone towards me.
The new code worked instantly, opening the phone to its bright, cheery home screen.
I nodded, forcing a small smile, telling myself not to overthink it.
Closing the distance between us, Misha kissed my forehead gently, rubbing my back as he said in a slow, soothing purr, “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Ariana. You know that, right? You are my heart.”
As he said this, the familiar, woodsy scent of his usual bodywash wrapped around me and I let him hold me to his chest.
“Come,” he urged softly, guiding me back toward the bed.
I wanted to give in.
But instead, I pushed away gently.
“I’m tired,” I confessed softly, unable to meet his eyes as he gazed down at me.
“That’s okay,” Misha smiled into my hair. “Rest. I’ll be right here.”
That night, we went to bed early, his arms wrapped around me as he fell asleep by my side. My heart and mind were still racing, sleep eluding me. My eyes wide open, I stared at the clock, wishing to God that I could just close my eyes and drift away.
Just as I relaxed, my body on the verge of sleep, my husband’s voice broke the overwhelming quiet of the room. “...Baby...”
He never called me “Baby.” Since the moment we fell in love, he’d call me Ari, or maybe Angel, even in moments of passion.
“Misha?”
“...shh, Baby. We need to be quiet…” he mumbled, still sleeping, his hands moving to pull me into him.
I froze, my heart shattering as his hardness pressed into my rear. Whoever he was dreaming about had him aroused, grinding against me in his sleep.
As fresh tears rolled down my cheeks, a sliver of moonlight shone on a photo framed near out bedside. It was from the day he proposed. It had been a perfect spring day, and standing next to a waterfall, he wrapped me in his arms and promised to love me forever.
Even now I can hear his voice in my head. “Marry me, Ariana. You are my angel, my reason for living and I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”
I had said yes, imagining a future with the two of us laughing and happy, and completely in love, surrounded by our children and loved ones. There’d be birthday parties and barbeques, sleepovers and swim parties, and eventually weddings and grandchildren as we grew old together, watching our family grow.
I still wanted to believe in this future.
But as I lay there, trapped in my husband’s arms, he seems like a complete stranger.
“He wouldn’t cheat on me,” I whispered into the darkness, another tear rolling down my cheek. “He couldn’t…not after everything…"
Biting back a sob, I remembered Misha as the smiling young man, looking up at her with so much gratitude as I helped him recover. The same man who once stood in the rain to keep me dry with his umbrella, who made every password her birthday.
A man who would whisper, “Angel,” in his dreams.
Where did he go?
Because I couldn’t recognize him anymore in the man lying next to me.
*****
Dawn came without sleep, and as soon as Misha got up to start his day, I realized it was pointless to pretend any longer. As soon as our front door closed and locked, I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled into my office. As part of my doctorate, I was required to submit articles for publication and my research had been accepted into one of the nation’s top medical journals. I just needed to send my final draft.
By the time I was done, I was overdue for breakfast. After my hard day yesterday followed by a completely sleepless night, I decided to treat myself to a coffee and headed to my favorite cafe. It was across town, near the business sector, but they made the best handmade pastries in the city and I was craving a chocolate croissant.
Despite the gloom settling over my heart, the sky was clear and sunny. It was going to be another beautiful day. Maybe I should enjoy my coffee in the cafe's garden, now that I’ve gotten the last bit of my big project finished. It could be the perfect medicine to cure my current funk.
Stepping out of my car, I joined the line that already snaked out the front door to the nearby corner. In the center of Manhattan, it was a popular place for the local businesses, including Carter Tech, which was only two blocks away. Misha preferred his coffee black, and usually didn’t bother with shops like this.
“A waste of money,” he’d say whenever I wanted to stop by.
Even now, I could almost hear him.
“Two hazelnut oatmilk lattes,” he said in my head, placing an order with the barista.
Except he’d never say that. Even when I’d ask, he’d insist on getting two black coffees.
And yet, I heard his voice as clearly as if he were in the same room as me.
“Would it be okay for me to get a maple scone?” a female voice asked a moment later. “Please.”
I recognized that voice. It was the same woman who had sent those messages last night. My head snapped around, looking for the source.
Standing at the counter was a petite blonde woman, her hair pulled back neatly. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up adoringly at the handsome man standing next to her.
My husband.
“Sure thing,” he grinned, looking at her like she hung the stars and the moon, “anything you want.”
As he handed the person behind the counter his credit card, he leaned in, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind one of her delicate ears. A pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks as the side of his body lined up perfectly with hers.
They stood far too close as his hand guided her toward the pickup line. A few moments later, they turned, lattes in hand. Feeling sick, I pushed my way out of line and hid behind a nearby tree as they walked out of the shop, my heart racing.
But not because of fear of discovery, or because my husband was flirting with another woman in broad daylight.
No, I was terrified because finally, everything had started to fall together in my mind with perfect clarity.
Misha had changed–he wasn’t the man I married anymore.
He quit smoking, started working out, tried new things…
He was becoming a better person. But not for me, not even for himself.
It was for her.
I bit my lip hard, swallowing a scream as my heart shattered.
Because in that moment I realized that the one person in the world that I loved more than anyone, the man I had changed my entire world for… maybe never really loved me at all.
As I held my breath, watching the two of them leave together, my phone rang, startling me back to reality.
“Hello?” I answered, my hands shaking.
“Ariana McKenna” the voice on the other end was articulated and refined with an undercurrent of genuine warmth. "Are you available? I read your latest paper. It's brilliant by the way."
It was Ryland Winchester, my advisor from my university days. I hadn’t heard from him in ages, not since I dropped out of school.
It’s only been three years, but it feels like forever ago.
“I showed your paper to the rest of my team. They were impressed. How would you like a fully-funded research position…”
Gasping, I almost dropped my phone.
“Professor Winchester, I’m flattered but I can’t…” I started to say. I want to settle my marriage first before considering anything else.
But he interrupts me. “Read our offer first, then make a decision. We are confident you'll make the right choice."
6.
You could say that I had two wake up calls that day, but the true depth of their meaning would become clear later, when I got home to check my email.
There were two new messages at the top of my inbox. The first was from Dr. Ryland Winchester and the HR department of Haven Medical Group.
The second one was from the camera I had installed in the car.
My heart skipped. Good news, bad news–which one do I open first?
Exhaling, I chose to look at the offer letter.
It was a generous offer–far more generous than I was expecting. If I took the position, not only would I get an opportunity to work on a fully-funded research team among some of the country’s physicians, including my old mentor Professor Winchester, I would be paid handsomely for my services–three times what I’d make here in NYC for any of the local hospitals.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A reset button on the last three years.
It would be like I never gave up my future to support Misha with his.
Even as I stared at the offer, I couldn’t bring myself to feel the excitement I knew I should.
Part of me wanted to believe I was still capable of this—of stepping back into a world I had walked away from years ago. But another part whispered all the reasons I shouldn’t. I had been out of academia for too long. I was rusty. Behind. Out of place.
Saying yes felt reckless.
And then there was reality. Misha would never give up his career to follow me, and his life was firmly rooted in New York, tied to Carter Tech. California felt impossibly far away—less like a destination and more like a fantasy.
I didn’t know if I could truly separate from Misha. My mind was in complete chaos…
“I’ll write him back tomorrow,” I promised myself as I filed the message away to deal with later. “Tell him I can’t do it. That would be the professional thing to do.”
Sighing, I looked back at my email. The other unopened message was waiting. With a nervous click, I opened it to find hours of footage along with summaries and GPS data of locations and times.
As I scrolled, I noticed a pattern.
Misha visited the same residential complex over and over again on multiple days, always at the same time in the morning, and then later at night. My chest tightened as I compared the night drop off dates to the last week of “late nights” at the office.
They were a perfect match.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” I said more for myself than for his sake. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could be meeting a client.”
But even as I said this, my heart knew I was fooling myself.
I slept poorly that night, not just because Misha didn’t return until after midnight, but also because my mind couldn’t let go of the events of the day. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see the pretty blonde smiling up at my husband like he was her everything, and my stomach clenched with anxiety and disgust.
And yet, the next morning, I woke up an hour earlier than normal, left a not saying I was “going for a run” and took my car to the other side of the town–not to the gym, but to the address displayed in the tracking app.
Parking across the street in a narrow alley, I looked down at my watch and waited.
And at 7:45 exactly a very familiar car pulled into the parking garage. A moment later, it drove out again, and following at a discrete distance, I tailed him all the way back to Carter Tech.
Parking just a few cars away, I watched Misha, clean-shaven and smiling, open the passenger side door. Extending his hand, he offered a dainty young woman help as she climbed out of the car in very high heels.
It was the same girl from the coffee shop.
As my husband leaned down to pick up a lunchbag, my heart stopped. I recognized that bag–it was the same one he used to pack for me when we were dating and I was working late nights during my residency.
He made her lunch in my lunchbag. A lunch he used to make for me.
The girl took it graciously, and standing on tip-toe, placed a small, grateful kiss on his cheek.
My blood ran cold as my heart froze to ice.
Watching them walk side by side towards the elevator, I couldn’t stop my feet from following. Taking the next lift up, I pretended to check my phone as I walked out into the reception area, my eyes hidden behind oversized sunglasses.
“Well look at that,” one of the receptionists gossiped under her breath as the two women watched my husband enter the main office, his hand on the small of the blonde woman’s back. “That new secretary, Mavis, sure moves fast, doesn’t she?”
Ah, so that’s Mavis.
“Mr. Carter does seem to dote on her,” the other receptionist replied. “She’s only been here a couple of months, but they’re practically inseparable. I wonder what she did to earn that extra attention.”
The two women giggle under their breath.
I don’t need to hear any more to know what they were implying–even the receptionists think he’s sleeping with her.
My stomach feeling sour, I turned away and headed back to my car.
Three years. I have given this man three years of my life.
Now, I need to fight back. I won’t let the sacrifices I made for this family go to waste.
As I thought about it, a plan began to form in my mind.
7.
That evening, Misha came home looking unusually cheerful.
Putting on a brave face, I smiled, waiting to see what had him in such a good mood.
“Sweetheart,” Misha took my hands in his “This weekend is our anniversary. We should take a trip to celebrate,” he paused, as if thinking and suggested. “How about Miami? It’s beautiful this time of year.”
My stomach flipped. Was he serious?
“Just the two of us?” I asked cautiously. “It’s not a work trip, right? No coworkers?”
Crossing his heart, Misha grinned with the boyish charm that used to make my heart race and my breath catch. “No work, no worries, I promise.”
I hesitated. Not because I believed him again, but because part of me needed to know—once and for all—whether this marriage was truly beyond saving.
If this was going to end, I wanted no doubts left behind.
Closing my eyes, I counted to ten before responding, “Sure, Misha. That sounds lovely.”
For a moment, he looked almost like the man I married—careful, attentive, familiar.
“Perfect!” He kissed my cheek, “Let me make this right,” he said quietly. “Just us.”
He grabbed his phone. “Hey, Mavis,” my stomach curdles. “I need you to book two tickets for Miami this weekend.”
Turning towards the window, I clenched my fists and took several, deep breaths to relieve the growing disgust in my gut.
Just hearing the way he says her name makes me want to vomit.
“Thanks Mav, you’re a lifesaver,” he grins like an idiot before hanging up. “Everything’s set. We leave on Friday.”
Exhaling, I tried to let it go. “Sounds good,” I reply brightly. “I can’t wait.”
After dinner, Misha excused himself to head to the gym for a “late night workout.” Shortly after he was gone, my phone rang.
Recognizing the number, I answered it immediately.
“Ariana,” Dr. Winchester’s warm, rich voice felt like a hug as he asked, “Did you have a chance to look at the offer?”
I told him that I had.
“Remember how it said you’d have the opportunity to present your work as a member of the group?” he continued, “Not to sway you or anything, but The International Medical Research Council Conference is happening a week from now in San Francisco and I got you an invitation slot.”
I was stunned. It was such a wonderful opportunity. Speaking at this conference had always been a dream of mine.
“You’d be a perfect speaker,” he pleads, “Please, Ariana, just say yes. Not for me, but for yourself.”
His words struck a chord. In a different world, I’d have said yes without hesitation.
But in this world, I’m committed to Misha and our marriage. This weekend, our anniversary trip might be a new start for us. It’s a terrible time for me to take a trip without him.
“Thank you, Dr. Winchester, for the opportunity,” I replied grimly, my heart sinking, “but I don’t think I can make it this time. It was my wedding anniversary that day, so…”
There’s a heavy pause before he replies. “That’s a shame.”
He sounds almost as disappointed as I feel.
But then he adds, “You know what, I’ll keep your name on the list for now. If you change your mind, give me a call. You’re always welcome.”
******
Friday came quickly. Too quickly it seems because on Thursday night, Misha never came home.
I got one call, less than an hour before we were set to leave for the airport.
“Hey, Ari, something came up and had to sleep at the office last night. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to fly to Miami separately.”
“Oh?” I swallowed, my throat tight. “Is that so?”
A pause.
“Yeah,” he replies casually, as if this is just a small inconvenience. “I know it sucks, and I’m sorry,” he sighed, exasperated. “But I’ll make it all up to you when we get there, okay.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Okay,” I tried to sound cheerful as I added. “I’ll see you there.”
Closing my phone, I looked at myself in the mirror and forced a smile.
And then headed to the airport. Alone.
_______
An hour later, I was standing in front of the ticket counter.
“I'm sorry, ma’am, but your ticket was transferred earlier today.” The flight attendant shook her head.
“What? That can't be possible. My husband booked this flight—it’s our anniversary.”
The attendant peered at me sympathetically. “I’ve checked every possible spelling. There’s no ticket under your name.”
“Then whose name is it under?”
“It's Mavis Sanderson.”
For a moment, I didn’t react.
I had been prepared for excuses.Lies.Even anger.
But this—this was clarity.
I moved away from the ticket booth to call my husband. At leaset I need an explanation from him.
“Ari,” he said quickly, breathless, as if he were walking. “This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of something important.”
The way he said it made my stomach sink.
“Misha, please,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m at the airport. There’s a problem…They say there’s no ticket under my name,”
Her laughter taunted me in the background.
They’re together.
“Misha,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “It’s our anniversary. This is our anniversary trip.”
He exhaled sharply, like I was exhausting him. “I know. And I’m sorry. But things changed…”
He’s right, things have changed.
I’ve changed.
I was done being his fool.
It’s surprising how fast a marriage can unravel, how easy it is to pack what remains into a small little box, and head out the door for the last time.
As I closed the penthouse door for the last time, my phone rang.
Wiping my eyes, I took a deep breath, and answered.
“Hello, is this Ariana Carter? This is Sharon with Haven Medical Group. I’m calling to see if you are still considering our offer.”
“Yes, I have considered your offer, and I’m ready to accept. I can be in San Francisco by tomorrow.”
