Love in the Lines

I came with my best friend, Alpha Jeremiah, to meet his mate’s family, but ended up getting bred by her brother, Alpha Ryker. "Ahhh...slow down, they might hear us.” The shower's heavy stream barely masked the rhythmic sounds. "I don't care if they hear," he growled, pressing closer. "I want them to know. You're my mine, little human." I don't know why, but the moment I see Ryker, I was overwhelmed by burning desire. I wanted him to take me, to ruin me, to make me scream while he filled me so full I couldn’t walk. But I guess I'm just another quick fling for him, after all he's the most well-known and fearded Alpha King. "Ryker? Are you showering?" His sister Rayna's voice echoed outside the door. I scrambled behind the curtain, but his grip caught my wrist, yanking me back. "Where do you think you're going? I told you I'd keep your legs spread and your thighs soaked all day." "But... Ryker..." My protest was weak. A knock. "Ryker? Can I come in...Wait! You're in heat? Have you found your mate?!" ** As a human orphan, I was taken in by the Silver Crescent Pack since young and grew up inseparable from their future Alpha, Jeremiah. I thought we’d be friends for life—until his mate, Rayna, came into the picture... I grab my clothes and stuff them all into my bag before another wave of tears hits. Once everything is packed, I walk my two bags downstairs and set them by the front door and grit my teeth. I need to say something to Aunt Beth or she will tear this whole pack apart looking for me. I follow sounds to the common room. It doesn’t cross my mind to make myself known before I walk in. A moan and grunt and then “WHAT THE HELL?!” A female screech pierces my ears. “Oh sh*t! Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” I shield my eyes. “I was just looking for Aunt Beth before I head out.” I start to back out of the room as quickly as possible. “Ken, wait! Come back.” I hear a ton of cloth rustling and I move faster. “Nope! Not a chance. Continue, I will find her on my own, sorry for the interruption.” I continue down the hallway heading for the door fighting tears. It took less than an hour for him to be distracted enough to forget I’m even here. ‘Important’ is no longer a word anyone gets to use when it comes to how Jer feels about me. “Ken, stop.” He’s so fucking fast and right in front of me now, blocking my way to the front door. I slam my eyes closed. I’m not going to have his mate try to beat me up for looking at him naked. “Where are you going? Why do you have a bag packed? And why are you looking for Mom?” Now he’s worried? I mentally roll my eyes. “I was going to tell her I was heading out. Are you dressed? I like my eyes where they are in my face. I don't need them ripped out.” I squeezed my eyes tighter and ignored his other questions. “Yes.” He laughs. “Now look at me and tell me where you are going. What’s going on?” “I told you, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m going to go stay at Ben’s so I’m not a problem.” “What are you talking about? I left you my shirt, that usually works when I’m gone. And since when have you ever been a problem?” “Really? Are you that dense? The shirt isn’t working anymore.” I lied. “And It became a problem when you found your mate, who you very obviously forgot to say anything to, cause she didn’t expect me based on the welcome I got when you brought her home. She doesn't want me here and you aren't going to choose.” “I’m right here, you know. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.” Her voice comes up close behind me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, then out. Don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude. I have to keep repeating to myself. This is not her fault, she’s just as much a victim here as I am and she has just as much if not more right to be angry than I do. “I still don't understand the problem?” Jeremiah looks from her to me and back again. It’s my turn to glare and growl and I don’t even have a wolf. Jer’s eyes go wide and he takes a step back from me. Hands up in a surrendering gesture. At least he’s smart enough to know we are both pissed, even if he doesn’t understand the problem. “Why are boys so stupid?!” I don’t yell, but my temper is getting harder and harder to control. I let out another sigh and decided to get this over with. I turn around. “Rayna, I’m Kennedy, Jeremiah’s best friend, his female best friend. I live here in the packhouse.” I gesture around me. “I’ve been here for the last three years. My mom was his mom’s best friend and I’m here because my parents died three years ago. I still have nightmares from that day and Jeremiah usually sleeps in my room with me…” I get nothing else out when she launches herself at me snarling and grabbing for my hair. She’s strong but I don’t know if she trains much, her movement is clumsy. We both fall back and I take the brunt of both our weights before flipping us both over trying to gain the advantage. I don’t want to hurt her, but I also don’t want to get hurt by her. She’s clawing at everything she can and her legs are kicking wildly underneath me. She’s snarling and growling but having a hard time getting words out. “You b*ch! You can’t have him!” She yells as she swipes at my face with her nails and distracts me enough to shift our positions and move on top of me. I can feel the blood trickle down my face. She thinks I’m just a rando girl trying to claim her man. With all the time he has spent with her even since she found out about me, he still never explained who I was. Jackass. Now I understand her frustration, I would find that shady too, and I’m fighting to get words out to reassure her while not letting her hurt me. I can only get a few choppy syllables uttered here and there while trying to hold her off. “I don’t f*cking want him you crazy ass. He’s like my brother.” I grunt as she gets a good punch to my stomach. “But you would know that if you two spent just as much time talking as you do f*cking! Now stop trying to claw my eyes out!” That made her pause long enough for me to thrust my hips and flip her on her back. I have her wrists in my hands and finally get them pinned above her head. She’s still flailing as I’m straddling her torso leaning in almost nose to nose. We are both panting, but she’s slowly stopped fighting me. Maybe she realized I’m not trying to hurt her back or my words are sinking in. Whatever, it’s working. “Stop trying to kill me. He’s like my brother.” I say again, breathing hard, now that I seem to have some of her attention. “He should have told you about me and to be honest a heads up about you would have been nice. But sometimes these boys aren’t the brightest.” I rolled my eyes and finally looked up at him just staring at us and noticed we have a whole audience. “Oh Goddess! That is so f*cking hot! How did you get so lucky?” Tommy slaps Jeremiah on the back and bites down on his lower lip. Such a perv. “So all four of you assholes just stood there and let us fight? You weren’t concerned for your best friend or your future Luna hurting each other? We should beat the sh*t out of all of you instead.” Ben and Jason roll their eyes, then Ben walks over. “You two get it out of your system?” He reaches his hand out to me. “Maybe.” I raise an eyebrow looking back at her, slowly releasing her arms and sitting back, straddling her waist, waiting for her to take a cheap shot. Nothing comes so I take his offered hand. Jason helps Rayna up. I fix my clothes and run my fingers through my hair, not looking at anyone. “I’m ready Ben, let’s go.” They need to talk and decide if this is something she can deal with. I don’t want to walk away, but an Alpha needs his Luna. In this case she is more important. My friendship with Jeremiah is solely in her hands. If she says no, then that's it, for now at least. I start walking toward the front door. I set my jaw, I will not cry again. I have said my peace and I can only hope she believes my words. This is for Jeremiah to explain and fix if he wants to keep me in his life. He has to make her see what he and I are, and she has to believe it’s not romantic. “Wait, don’t go.” Her voice is sweet but confident and I don’t know if I can do this. I shake my head and keep moving. “Please, we should talk.” I keep looking at the door. “I really do need to try and sleep, that wasn’t a line. Don’t make this any harder for me. Please. I need to go.” My plea came out barely audible to my own ears, but I know they can hear me. It is getting harder to breathe. “But you live here…” She’s right behind me whispering. I know the guys can hear us though. I keep my eyes locked in the door. Each breath is controlled in and then out. “Yep… for now… and soon you will too. I need to learn how to work through the nightmares and bullsh*t on my own anyway, but this was kind of a shock.” I bend over and grab my bags, my hands still sore from my impromptu workout earlier. She stops me, her hand on mine. The first tear falls. I shake my head side to side, my heart is breaking. “Let’s go put these away and we can get to know each other. It seems like we will be spending a lot of time together.” She pulls on my hand holding the strap to my duffel bag. It wasn’t anything harsh or controlling, but something in me just snapped, and I don’t have the energy to fight her anymore. There go my tears again, stupid emotions. She takes my bag and slides her gentle hand on my upper arm turning me around. I sling my backpack on my shoulder, eyes down just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. We both walk up the stairs to head back to my room, Rayna right behind me without a backwards glance at the guys. “Ken…” Jeremiah breathes. I just shake my head and keep walking. “I think your girls just left you hanging, I hope you finished whatever you started in here brother otherwise you’re going to sleep with some blue balls.” Tommy is always the charmer. But the rest of the guys laugh as well. We get to my room and I drop my bag by my desk and take a deep breath before I turn around. I move to take my duffle from her and drop it next to my school bag. “Were you really just going to leave? No fight at all?” She seems appalled. “He’s my brother, not my boyfriend.” I’m kind of getting tired of saying that. “There’s never been anything like that between us. I understand how mates work, how integral they are. He’s an Alpha and an Alpha needs his Luna. There is nothing more important than that for the future of the pack. So yes, I was going to leave, because you don’t want me near him. You don't want me here.” I rub my face and go to sit on my bed and pat the place next to me. “I have never once run at my brother like that. I’m usually more inclined to throw something at him.” This has the effect of breaking the tension as I let out a strangled laugh. “But how close are you and your brother? In age, I mean?” “Six years difference. He’s 26, I’m 20” I nod. “ Jer and I are the same age, literally. We were born on the same day in the same hospital. That’s how close our mom’s were. My mom was visiting and they both went into labor at the same time. We are more like twins, basically raised that way.” She nods. “That explains a few things then. Not why he sleeps in your room, but we’ll get to that. What about the other guys?” “What about them?” I am trying to get my breathing under control now that she isn’t growling at me. I have a headache from all the crying too. “Oh, come on. There’s no way you left all of them alone! That much hotness and no mate yet. And they are all so protective over you. You are close with all of them, anyone can see it.” “What are you talking about ‘no mate yet?’ I’m human, do you know the odds of me being mated to someone? I can’t even be inducted into the pack, because the elders think it will kill me. I’m sure being marked would be just as bad.” I chose to skip her other statement. I don’t know her that well. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. We don’t have any humans in our pack right now though, so I’m not sure how that works.” “No idea, but Aunt Beth won’t even entertain the idea. So I’m a human in a werewolf pack with no actual connection to the pack, living with the Alpha’s family, but not blood related.” I say darkly. “So…I believe you’ve never had any romantic interest in Jeremiah. It’s written all over your face.” She giggles, like an actual little girl. “But, you avoided my other question, that means you have given the other guys a test drive.” She winks and I look at the door, sure someone is probably listening. “Test drive is a strong phrase.” I try to dodge. "Besides, what we've done are not nearly as hot as what I walked into downstairs a little bit ago. Did he forget other people live here or is that like a mate bond thing where you get horny all of a sudden and have to f*ck right where you are?” I was kind of joking, but I admitted I wanted to see her blush. “Maybe a little of both. I mean I didn’t know you lived here and his parents are still at the meeting. They'll be back in the morning so I didn’t see anything wrong with it. And it is kind of hard to keep my hands to myself when he’s around, you’ve seen him. ” She’s blushing, but there’s a little tone of disbelief in her voice. “Knock, knock! Is it safe? I would like to be able to have kids someday, Ken.” My door cracks open and my best friend stands in the frame, but waits for me to give him the okay. “We’re fine Jer. We just had to fill in some gaps you missed because you are a moron and let your d*ck take over thinking for you.” He huffed a laugh and walked in with two mugs, set them down on the side table and climbed on my bed behind Rayna. “I brought tea, thought it might help. We have an early start tomorrow, we all need to sleep.” He can’t keep his hands to himself either and it’s really cute watching him wrap her up in his arms. Her dark hair frames her heart shaped face contrasting with his light blonde hair. She leans back into his embrace. “What’s tomorrow?” I ask, confused, grabbing for the cup of tea. It’s a blend that the healer made when I told her I was still having nightmares and nothing else is working. “We are traveling to my pack so Jeremiah can meet my brother. He’s the Alpha, but was dealing with another urgent matter so my dad and I went to the meeting in his place.” “I'm glad you did.” He nuzzles her neck and I can hear his wolf purr. “Okay please don’t have s*x in my room. You have your own for those extra curricular activities. Jer,” I slap his leg. “Thank you for the tea, I should be good. Did the guys leave already? I didn’t even think to say goodbye.” I’m trying to rush them out. As cute as it is, I have heard that new mates escalate from light touching to f*cking quickly. And that isn’t something I want to see, no matter how hot my best friend and his new mate are. “Nah, they're all in the Media room. We figured it would be easier for everyone if we all just left from here in the morning.” “Why do you all have to go?” I’m still learning all the nuances of pack politics, but the thought of all of them being gone makes my heart sink. “We are all going, you included. When an Alpha travels for more than just a couple days, usually his team goes as well as long as someone is here to run the pack and Beta Daniel is still here and my parents will be back tomorrow too.” “What does any of that have to do with me?” “I’m sure that Rayna would like to have another female along. Traveling with all males all the time, can’t be fun. Besides, you’re one of my warriors and my best friend, I would like you there when I have to meet Rayna’s brother.” “Is that code for you’re afraid of my brother?!” Rayna laughs at him. “Umm, yes Luna!” He growls in her ear. “No sass from you. She’s always the buffer when there’s too much testosterone in the room. Kennedy has actually been to several meets with me. She’s really good with all the small talk and she remembers everything. It’s very handy. It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful and typically earns attention quickly. And your brother has the biggest pack territory and is one of the most notoriously dangerous Alphas, not to mention I’m about to take his sister away. I need all the help I can get.” I ignore the backhanded distraction comment and ask, “Wait, what pack are you from?” “Dark Moon.” My eyebrows shoot up. Even I have heard of them. I can’t remember the Alpha’s name, but he is ruthless from what I have heard. He takes over weak packs and eliminates Alphas like I go to school and turn in assignments. “Relax, He’s not that scary.” “Maybe for you, he loves you, for the rest of the world he’s intimidating. If the situation was reversed and someone came and told me they were Kennedy's mate and she’s packing her stuff and leaving today. I would probably try to beat the sh*t out of them. Mate bond or not.” I laugh with Rayna and then stop and stare at him. A thought just occurred to me, “Is that why no one here tries to date me? Cause you told them you’d beat the sh*t out of them?” “Uh…no…not exactly.” “But pretty close to being accurate?” “We may have insinuated that you could handle yourself and we would take care of whatever was left over.” “Good to know there’s a ‘we’ to yell at.” I look at Rayna. “How far is the drive to your pack? I need to make sure I have enough topics to yell at them for over the whole drive.” She giggles again and Jeremiah blanches, knowing I’m not lying. He only calms when she turns her head and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Okay go, you two are making me nauseous. I will see you in the morning.” They both get up to leave and make it to the door when Jer turns, “Do you need a shirt? I can grab one.” “I still have the one you gave me a couple days ago, I should be good. I have to start weaning sometime.” And just like that, we’re back to being weird. Even with a little history I don’t know how Rayna will feel about him giving clothes that smell like him to me. “Let me know if you need me, alright?” I just nod my head. There’s no way I’m yelling for him with his mate here. I fall asleep more quickly than I have in the last 3 nights. But, I’m not sure if that’s from him being back in the packhouse or being so tired from the days' drama I had no choice. Ryker Taking over Old Alpha Edward’s pack was never going to be easy—even when he invited me to do so. He was dying, yes, and wanted a peaceful handover, but peace was the last thing the pack offered. Arrogant wolves always surface during a power shift, testing boundaries, daring me to put them in their place. And I did. Three troublesome days later, the resistance finally broke. “Thank you, Ryker.” Alpha Edward sounds so weary. I think he has been holding on until he could see his pack safely taken care of. I’m surprised he made it as long as he did after his mate died. Many don’t. The pain from the loss of your mate is supposed to be the worst kind of torture imaginable. Many die from a broken heart or just go mad and have to be eliminated for everyone’s safety. I have dispatched many alpha’s for that alone. That’s one of the reasons Alphas are so protective of their Lunas and why I am sometimes glad I still haven’t found mine yet. My wolf always grumbles in my head when that thought crosses my mind. An Alpha is at his strongest when he has his fated Luna by his side and would burn the world for her and anyone who managed to capture her or hurt her would have a level of control over that Alpha. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do to save her, including sacrificing anyone or anything. I ripped a man’s arms off for having the audacity to touch my little sister after she said ‘no.’ I would probably do worse to someone who even looked at my mate. Just the idea of that kind of possession presses on my chest and terrifies me. I don’t want anyone to have that kind of effect on me. ... By the time night fall, I end my long day where all battles do—alone in the bathroom. I shower all the grime off and let the water sluice over my body. The hot water feels amazing against my muscles after so much time in the car and the late night run. Just as I was starting to really relax and my mind began making the mental list of things that I need to do, I felt a cool breeze and the scent of fake roses filled my nostrils and I grimaced. I turn around and grasp the girl around the throat after I let her get close. Had it been a male he would already be dead. I know that makes me some kind of chauvinist, shoot me, I’m not perfect. Her eyes are wide, but not afraid. She was sent here by Edward as a gesture of thanks. She’s good with instructions and the extra purring and vibrations are getting me close, but it’s not enough. I closed my eyes. She is not my type, at all, but I have a great imagination. I continue to slam my hips into her face as I picture perfect pouty lips, light blue eyes looking right at me and dark blonde hair tangled in my hands. I have had a vision of my perfect woman in my head for as long as I can remember and I have no idea why, but no one compares. I only let brunettes pleasure me because the only blonde I want is my dream girl. I can’t get off until I picture her, no matter how attractive or talented the woman I am with is. After I send her off, I try to go back to my list, but something is buzzing under my skin that has nothing to do with Edward’s pack or even the girl who just went down on me. I’ve felt it for days now. Not danger. Not anxiety. Nothing my instincts can clearly name. Just… something. Persistent. Distracting. And distractions are luxuries I can’t afford. The answer comes the moment I step out of the shower. A voicemail from my sister. She’s found her mate. My eyes squint dangerously. Guess it's time to go back home. Kennedy “Holy Sh*t Rayna. Your pack is beautiful!” I exclaim. We are finally in Rayna's pack. It's weird that I slept so well these days with her in the same car. I have never had another female settle me enough to sleep though, not even Aunt Beth. Maybe it’s because she’s a part of Jer, an extension of our connection is in her too because of the mate bond. Who knows. When I think I understand werewolf nature something always throws a wrench that makes me question the things that really should make sense, like mates. The hill we were going up didn’t dip back into a valley like I thought. It leveled out and the trees were full and lush, some of them even starting to change colors with the season. The path we were driving on was well maintained and the larger trees made a sort of canopy over us. Once we got past the long entry drive the path opened up to a large town that looked so classic and from a different era. It was something people would put on Christmas cards with red brick buildings and large shop windows. Everything is cozy and inviting. It looks like there are blocks of buildings that stretch into neighborhoods of homes. I knew this pack was big, but I didn't realize it was this big. We drive past a center square where a roundabout circles a central gazebo that is decorated for some special occasion. Off to one end there is a large park. I can see the top of a jungle gym in the distance. I’m going to have fun exploring here. As we drive further into the pack territory I can see the first industrial looking building and just beyond it looks like stadium seating. I wonder if that is part of their school. “Hey, Rayna. What is that over there?” I point to the building and seating. “Oh, that’s our training ground. My brother has built our pack so big that we have groups of warriors that come from all over to train, so the building is a dorm for them to stay in while they are here.” “When do they train? I would love to go watch.” “Evening training starts in a couple hours. Why don’t we all go to the packhouse and drop off our stuff, change and grab a bite to eat and then we can join. I’m sure the guys would love to move around after being your pillow the whole trip.” She laughs at me. “Food sounds amazing!” Tommy chirps from next to her and the rest of us laugh. She guides Jeremiah through the town pointing things out as we go and I can’t keep my jaw off the floor. This is nothing like the rumors say. Everything is classically timeless and gorgeous. We get to the pack house which is very grand and has a touch of the old world look to it too, but I don’t have time to admire for long, my boys are hungry and in a hurry. One of the Omegas helps us all to our rooms. I’m surprised to learn that we are on the Alpha’s floor as guests, but when I mention it to Rayna her explanation both helps me understand and confuses me. I don’t always get pack hierarchy culture and didn’t really think about different packs doing things in different ways. I always thought the Alpha and the Alpha’s immediate family liked to have a floor to themselves. It was a way to escape the pack a bit, like celebrities having a gate surrounding their mansions to keep out paparazzi. A place where no one but their designated Omegas went. I was only allowed on the Alpha floor when Aunt Beth took me in. Even Jeremiah moved down to my floor when I moved in so we could be closer, and then it helped with the nightmare problem. I guess because Rayna’s room is on this floor and Jeremiah is an Alpha and expected to stay with her, obviously, his team is housed near him. It’s to make us all feel more comfortable, being close together, rather than feeling wary of being separated. We get special treatment since we are a packaged deal with Rayna. When we get to the floor I stop in my tracks as I smell the most amazing thing I have ever smelled in my whole life. It’s Rosemary and mint and something just inherently male. Whoever is wearing this cologne might get attacked by me later, it makes my whole body tingle in ways it never has before. I notice it’s all over this floor as we walk towards our rooms. I wonder if it is a warrior who patrols here. Damn. All my lady bits are on high alert now. “You alright?” A low voice sounded behind me.

I came with my best friend, Alpha Jeremiah, to meet his mate’s family, but ended up getting bred by her brother, Alpha Ryker. "Ahhh...slow down, they might hear us.” The shower's heavy stream barely masked the rhythmic sounds. "I don't care if they hear," he growled, pressing closer. "I want them to know. You're my mine, little human." I don't know why, but the moment I see Ryker, I was overwhelmed by burning desire. I wanted him to take me, to ruin me, to make me scream while he filled me so full I couldn’t walk. But I guess I'm just another quick fling for him, after all he's the most well-known and fearded Alpha King. "Ryker? Are you showering?" His sister Rayna's voice echoed outside the door. I scrambled behind the curtain, but his grip caught my wrist, yanking me back. "Where do you think you're going? I told you I'd keep your legs spread and your thighs soaked all day." "But... Ryker..." My protest was weak. A knock. "Ryker? Can I come in...Wait! You're in heat? Have you found your mate?!" ** As a human orphan, I was taken in by the Silver Crescent Pack since young and grew up inseparable from their future Alpha, Jeremiah. I thought we’d be friends for life—until his mate, Rayna, came into the picture... I grab my clothes and stuff them all into my bag before another wave of tears hits. Once everything is packed, I walk my two bags downstairs and set them by the front door and grit my teeth. I need to say something to Aunt Beth or she will tear this whole pack apart looking for me. I follow sounds to the common room. It doesn’t cross my mind to make myself known before I walk in. A moan and grunt and then “WHAT THE HELL?!” A female screech pierces my ears. “Oh sh*t! Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” I shield my eyes. “I was just looking for Aunt Beth before I head out.” I start to back out of the room as quickly as possible. “Ken, wait! Come back.” I hear a ton of cloth rustling and I move faster. “Nope! Not a chance. Continue, I will find her on my own, sorry for the interruption.” I continue down the hallway heading for the door fighting tears. It took less than an hour for him to be distracted enough to forget I’m even here. ‘Important’ is no longer a word anyone gets to use when it comes to how Jer feels about me. “Ken, stop.” He’s so fucking fast and right in front of me now, blocking my way to the front door. I slam my eyes closed. I’m not going to have his mate try to beat me up for looking at him naked. “Where are you going? Why do you have a bag packed? And why are you looking for Mom?” Now he’s worried? I mentally roll my eyes. “I was going to tell her I was heading out. Are you dressed? I like my eyes where they are in my face. I don't need them ripped out.” I squeezed my eyes tighter and ignored his other questions. “Yes.” He laughs. “Now look at me and tell me where you are going. What’s going on?” “I told you, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m going to go stay at Ben’s so I’m not a problem.” “What are you talking about? I left you my shirt, that usually works when I’m gone. And since when have you ever been a problem?” “Really? Are you that dense? The shirt isn’t working anymore.” I lied. “And It became a problem when you found your mate, who you very obviously forgot to say anything to, cause she didn’t expect me based on the welcome I got when you brought her home. She doesn't want me here and you aren't going to choose.” “I’m right here, you know. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.” Her voice comes up close behind me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, then out. Don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude. I have to keep repeating to myself. This is not her fault, she’s just as much a victim here as I am and she has just as much if not more right to be angry than I do. “I still don't understand the problem?” Jeremiah looks from her to me and back again. It’s my turn to glare and growl and I don’t even have a wolf. Jer’s eyes go wide and he takes a step back from me. Hands up in a surrendering gesture. At least he’s smart enough to know we are both pissed, even if he doesn’t understand the problem. “Why are boys so stupid?!” I don’t yell, but my temper is getting harder and harder to control. I let out another sigh and decided to get this over with. I turn around. “Rayna, I’m Kennedy, Jeremiah’s best friend, his female best friend. I live here in the packhouse.” I gesture around me. “I’ve been here for the last three years. My mom was his mom’s best friend and I’m here because my parents died three years ago. I still have nightmares from that day and Jeremiah usually sleeps in my room with me…” I get nothing else out when she launches herself at me snarling and grabbing for my hair. She’s strong but I don’t know if she trains much, her movement is clumsy. We both fall back and I take the brunt of both our weights before flipping us both over trying to gain the advantage. I don’t want to hurt her, but I also don’t want to get hurt by her. She’s clawing at everything she can and her legs are kicking wildly underneath me. She’s snarling and growling but having a hard time getting words out. “You b*ch! You can’t have him!” She yells as she swipes at my face with her nails and distracts me enough to shift our positions and move on top of me. I can feel the blood trickle down my face. She thinks I’m just a rando girl trying to claim her man. With all the time he has spent with her even since she found out about me, he still never explained who I was. Jackass. Now I understand her frustration, I would find that shady too, and I’m fighting to get words out to reassure her while not letting her hurt me. I can only get a few choppy syllables uttered here and there while trying to hold her off. “I don’t f*cking want him you crazy ass. He’s like my brother.” I grunt as she gets a good punch to my stomach. “But you would know that if you two spent just as much time talking as you do f*cking! Now stop trying to claw my eyes out!” That made her pause long enough for me to thrust my hips and flip her on her back. I have her wrists in my hands and finally get them pinned above her head. She’s still flailing as I’m straddling her torso leaning in almost nose to nose. We are both panting, but she’s slowly stopped fighting me. Maybe she realized I’m not trying to hurt her back or my words are sinking in. Whatever, it’s working. “Stop trying to kill me. He’s like my brother.” I say again, breathing hard, now that I seem to have some of her attention. “He should have told you about me and to be honest a heads up about you would have been nice. But sometimes these boys aren’t the brightest.” I rolled my eyes and finally looked up at him just staring at us and noticed we have a whole audience. “Oh Goddess! That is so f*cking hot! How did you get so lucky?” Tommy slaps Jeremiah on the back and bites down on his lower lip. Such a perv. “So all four of you assholes just stood there and let us fight? You weren’t concerned for your best friend or your future Luna hurting each other? We should beat the sh*t out of all of you instead.” Ben and Jason roll their eyes, then Ben walks over. “You two get it out of your system?” He reaches his hand out to me. “Maybe.” I raise an eyebrow looking back at her, slowly releasing her arms and sitting back, straddling her waist, waiting for her to take a cheap shot. Nothing comes so I take his offered hand. Jason helps Rayna up. I fix my clothes and run my fingers through my hair, not looking at anyone. “I’m ready Ben, let’s go.” They need to talk and decide if this is something she can deal with. I don’t want to walk away, but an Alpha needs his Luna. In this case she is more important. My friendship with Jeremiah is solely in her hands. If she says no, then that's it, for now at least. I start walking toward the front door. I set my jaw, I will not cry again. I have said my peace and I can only hope she believes my words. This is for Jeremiah to explain and fix if he wants to keep me in his life. He has to make her see what he and I are, and she has to believe it’s not romantic. “Wait, don’t go.” Her voice is sweet but confident and I don’t know if I can do this. I shake my head and keep moving. “Please, we should talk.” I keep looking at the door. “I really do need to try and sleep, that wasn’t a line. Don’t make this any harder for me. Please. I need to go.” My plea came out barely audible to my own ears, but I know they can hear me. It is getting harder to breathe. “But you live here…” She’s right behind me whispering. I know the guys can hear us though. I keep my eyes locked in the door. Each breath is controlled in and then out. “Yep… for now… and soon you will too. I need to learn how to work through the nightmares and bullsh*t on my own anyway, but this was kind of a shock.” I bend over and grab my bags, my hands still sore from my impromptu workout earlier. She stops me, her hand on mine. The first tear falls. I shake my head side to side, my heart is breaking. “Let’s go put these away and we can get to know each other. It seems like we will be spending a lot of time together.” She pulls on my hand holding the strap to my duffel bag. It wasn’t anything harsh or controlling, but something in me just snapped, and I don’t have the energy to fight her anymore. There go my tears again, stupid emotions. She takes my bag and slides her gentle hand on my upper arm turning me around. I sling my backpack on my shoulder, eyes down just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. We both walk up the stairs to head back to my room, Rayna right behind me without a backwards glance at the guys. “Ken…” Jeremiah breathes. I just shake my head and keep walking. “I think your girls just left you hanging, I hope you finished whatever you started in here brother otherwise you’re going to sleep with some blue balls.” Tommy is always the charmer. But the rest of the guys laugh as well. We get to my room and I drop my bag by my desk and take a deep breath before I turn around. I move to take my duffle from her and drop it next to my school bag. “Were you really just going to leave? No fight at all?” She seems appalled. “He’s my brother, not my boyfriend.” I’m kind of getting tired of saying that. “There’s never been anything like that between us. I understand how mates work, how integral they are. He’s an Alpha and an Alpha needs his Luna. There is nothing more important than that for the future of the pack. So yes, I was going to leave, because you don’t want me near him. You don't want me here.” I rub my face and go to sit on my bed and pat the place next to me. “I have never once run at my brother like that. I’m usually more inclined to throw something at him.” This has the effect of breaking the tension as I let out a strangled laugh. “But how close are you and your brother? In age, I mean?” “Six years difference. He’s 26, I’m 20” I nod. “ Jer and I are the same age, literally. We were born on the same day in the same hospital. That’s how close our mom’s were. My mom was visiting and they both went into labor at the same time. We are more like twins, basically raised that way.” She nods. “That explains a few things then. Not why he sleeps in your room, but we’ll get to that. What about the other guys?” “What about them?” I am trying to get my breathing under control now that she isn’t growling at me. I have a headache from all the crying too. “Oh, come on. There’s no way you left all of them alone! That much hotness and no mate yet. And they are all so protective over you. You are close with all of them, anyone can see it.” “What are you talking about ‘no mate yet?’ I’m human, do you know the odds of me being mated to someone? I can’t even be inducted into the pack, because the elders think it will kill me. I’m sure being marked would be just as bad.” I chose to skip her other statement. I don’t know her that well. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. We don’t have any humans in our pack right now though, so I’m not sure how that works.” “No idea, but Aunt Beth won’t even entertain the idea. So I’m a human in a werewolf pack with no actual connection to the pack, living with the Alpha’s family, but not blood related.” I say darkly. “So…I believe you’ve never had any romantic interest in Jeremiah. It’s written all over your face.” She giggles, like an actual little girl. “But, you avoided my other question, that means you have given the other guys a test drive.” She winks and I look at the door, sure someone is probably listening. “Test drive is a strong phrase.” I try to dodge. "Besides, what we've done are not nearly as hot as what I walked into downstairs a little bit ago. Did he forget other people live here or is that like a mate bond thing where you get horny all of a sudden and have to f*ck right where you are?” I was kind of joking, but I admitted I wanted to see her blush. “Maybe a little of both. I mean I didn’t know you lived here and his parents are still at the meeting. They'll be back in the morning so I didn’t see anything wrong with it. And it is kind of hard to keep my hands to myself when he’s around, you’ve seen him. ” She’s blushing, but there’s a little tone of disbelief in her voice. “Knock, knock! Is it safe? I would like to be able to have kids someday, Ken.” My door cracks open and my best friend stands in the frame, but waits for me to give him the okay. “We’re fine Jer. We just had to fill in some gaps you missed because you are a moron and let your d*ck take over thinking for you.” He huffed a laugh and walked in with two mugs, set them down on the side table and climbed on my bed behind Rayna. “I brought tea, thought it might help. We have an early start tomorrow, we all need to sleep.” He can’t keep his hands to himself either and it’s really cute watching him wrap her up in his arms. Her dark hair frames her heart shaped face contrasting with his light blonde hair. She leans back into his embrace. “What’s tomorrow?” I ask, confused, grabbing for the cup of tea. It’s a blend that the healer made when I told her I was still having nightmares and nothing else is working. “We are traveling to my pack so Jeremiah can meet my brother. He’s the Alpha, but was dealing with another urgent matter so my dad and I went to the meeting in his place.” “I'm glad you did.” He nuzzles her neck and I can hear his wolf purr. “Okay please don’t have s*x in my room. You have your own for those extra curricular activities. Jer,” I slap his leg. “Thank you for the tea, I should be good. Did the guys leave already? I didn’t even think to say goodbye.” I’m trying to rush them out. As cute as it is, I have heard that new mates escalate from light touching to f*cking quickly. And that isn’t something I want to see, no matter how hot my best friend and his new mate are. “Nah, they're all in the Media room. We figured it would be easier for everyone if we all just left from here in the morning.” “Why do you all have to go?” I’m still learning all the nuances of pack politics, but the thought of all of them being gone makes my heart sink. “We are all going, you included. When an Alpha travels for more than just a couple days, usually his team goes as well as long as someone is here to run the pack and Beta Daniel is still here and my parents will be back tomorrow too.” “What does any of that have to do with me?” “I’m sure that Rayna would like to have another female along. Traveling with all males all the time, can’t be fun. Besides, you’re one of my warriors and my best friend, I would like you there when I have to meet Rayna’s brother.” “Is that code for you’re afraid of my brother?!” Rayna laughs at him. “Umm, yes Luna!” He growls in her ear. “No sass from you. She’s always the buffer when there’s too much testosterone in the room. Kennedy has actually been to several meets with me. She’s really good with all the small talk and she remembers everything. It’s very handy. It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful and typically earns attention quickly. And your brother has the biggest pack territory and is one of the most notoriously dangerous Alphas, not to mention I’m about to take his sister away. I need all the help I can get.” I ignore the backhanded distraction comment and ask, “Wait, what pack are you from?” “Dark Moon.” My eyebrows shoot up. Even I have heard of them. I can’t remember the Alpha’s name, but he is ruthless from what I have heard. He takes over weak packs and eliminates Alphas like I go to school and turn in assignments. “Relax, He’s not that scary.” “Maybe for you, he loves you, for the rest of the world he’s intimidating. If the situation was reversed and someone came and told me they were Kennedy's mate and she’s packing her stuff and leaving today. I would probably try to beat the sh*t out of them. Mate bond or not.” I laugh with Rayna and then stop and stare at him. A thought just occurred to me, “Is that why no one here tries to date me? Cause you told them you’d beat the sh*t out of them?” “Uh…no…not exactly.” “But pretty close to being accurate?” “We may have insinuated that you could handle yourself and we would take care of whatever was left over.” “Good to know there’s a ‘we’ to yell at.” I look at Rayna. “How far is the drive to your pack? I need to make sure I have enough topics to yell at them for over the whole drive.” She giggles again and Jeremiah blanches, knowing I’m not lying. He only calms when she turns her head and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Okay go, you two are making me nauseous. I will see you in the morning.” They both get up to leave and make it to the door when Jer turns, “Do you need a shirt? I can grab one.” “I still have the one you gave me a couple days ago, I should be good. I have to start weaning sometime.” And just like that, we’re back to being weird. Even with a little history I don’t know how Rayna will feel about him giving clothes that smell like him to me. “Let me know if you need me, alright?” I just nod my head. There’s no way I’m yelling for him with his mate here. I fall asleep more quickly than I have in the last 3 nights. But, I’m not sure if that’s from him being back in the packhouse or being so tired from the days' drama I had no choice. Ryker Taking over Old Alpha Edward’s pack was never going to be easy—even when he invited me to do so. He was dying, yes, and wanted a peaceful handover, but peace was the last thing the pack offered. Arrogant wolves always surface during a power shift, testing boundaries, daring me to put them in their place. And I did. Three troublesome days later, the resistance finally broke. “Thank you, Ryker.” Alpha Edward sounds so weary. I think he has been holding on until he could see his pack safely taken care of. I’m surprised he made it as long as he did after his mate died. Many don’t. The pain from the loss of your mate is supposed to be the worst kind of torture imaginable. Many die from a broken heart or just go mad and have to be eliminated for everyone’s safety. I have dispatched many alpha’s for that alone. That’s one of the reasons Alphas are so protective of their Lunas and why I am sometimes glad I still haven’t found mine yet. My wolf always grumbles in my head when that thought crosses my mind. An Alpha is at his strongest when he has his fated Luna by his side and would burn the world for her and anyone who managed to capture her or hurt her would have a level of control over that Alpha. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do to save her, including sacrificing anyone or anything. I ripped a man’s arms off for having the audacity to touch my little sister after she said ‘no.’ I would probably do worse to someone who even looked at my mate. Just the idea of that kind of possession presses on my chest and terrifies me. I don’t want anyone to have that kind of effect on me. ... By the time night fall, I end my long day where all battles do—alone in the bathroom. I shower all the grime off and let the water sluice over my body. The hot water feels amazing against my muscles after so much time in the car and the late night run. Just as I was starting to really relax and my mind began making the mental list of things that I need to do, I felt a cool breeze and the scent of fake roses filled my nostrils and I grimaced. I turn around and grasp the girl around the throat after I let her get close. Had it been a male he would already be dead. I know that makes me some kind of chauvinist, shoot me, I’m not perfect. Her eyes are wide, but not afraid. She was sent here by Edward as a gesture of thanks. She’s good with instructions and the extra purring and vibrations are getting me close, but it’s not enough. I closed my eyes. She is not my type, at all, but I have a great imagination. I continue to slam my hips into her face as I picture perfect pouty lips, light blue eyes looking right at me and dark blonde hair tangled in my hands. I have had a vision of my perfect woman in my head for as long as I can remember and I have no idea why, but no one compares. I only let brunettes pleasure me because the only blonde I want is my dream girl. I can’t get off until I picture her, no matter how attractive or talented the woman I am with is. After I send her off, I try to go back to my list, but something is buzzing under my skin that has nothing to do with Edward’s pack or even the girl who just went down on me. I’ve felt it for days now. Not danger. Not anxiety. Nothing my instincts can clearly name. Just… something. Persistent. Distracting. And distractions are luxuries I can’t afford. The answer comes the moment I step out of the shower. A voicemail from my sister. She’s found her mate. My eyes squint dangerously. Guess it's time to go back home. Kennedy “Holy Sh*t Rayna. Your pack is beautiful!” I exclaim. We are finally in Rayna's pack. It's weird that I slept so well these days with her in the same car. I have never had another female settle me enough to sleep though, not even Aunt Beth. Maybe it’s because she’s a part of Jer, an extension of our connection is in her too because of the mate bond. Who knows. When I think I understand werewolf nature something always throws a wrench that makes me question the things that really should make sense, like mates. The hill we were going up didn’t dip back into a valley like I thought. It leveled out and the trees were full and lush, some of them even starting to change colors with the season. The path we were driving on was well maintained and the larger trees made a sort of canopy over us. Once we got past the long entry drive the path opened up to a large town that looked so classic and from a different era. It was something people would put on Christmas cards with red brick buildings and large shop windows. Everything is cozy and inviting. It looks like there are blocks of buildings that stretch into neighborhoods of homes. I knew this pack was big, but I didn't realize it was this big. We drive past a center square where a roundabout circles a central gazebo that is decorated for some special occasion. Off to one end there is a large park. I can see the top of a jungle gym in the distance. I’m going to have fun exploring here. As we drive further into the pack territory I can see the first industrial looking building and just beyond it looks like stadium seating. I wonder if that is part of their school. “Hey, Rayna. What is that over there?” I point to the building and seating. “Oh, that’s our training ground. My brother has built our pack so big that we have groups of warriors that come from all over to train, so the building is a dorm for them to stay in while they are here.” “When do they train? I would love to go watch.” “Evening training starts in a couple hours. Why don’t we all go to the packhouse and drop off our stuff, change and grab a bite to eat and then we can join. I’m sure the guys would love to move around after being your pillow the whole trip.” She laughs at me. “Food sounds amazing!” Tommy chirps from next to her and the rest of us laugh. She guides Jeremiah through the town pointing things out as we go and I can’t keep my jaw off the floor. This is nothing like the rumors say. Everything is classically timeless and gorgeous. We get to the pack house which is very grand and has a touch of the old world look to it too, but I don’t have time to admire for long, my boys are hungry and in a hurry. One of the Omegas helps us all to our rooms. I’m surprised to learn that we are on the Alpha’s floor as guests, but when I mention it to Rayna her explanation both helps me understand and confuses me. I don’t always get pack hierarchy culture and didn’t really think about different packs doing things in different ways. I always thought the Alpha and the Alpha’s immediate family liked to have a floor to themselves. It was a way to escape the pack a bit, like celebrities having a gate surrounding their mansions to keep out paparazzi. A place where no one but their designated Omegas went. I was only allowed on the Alpha floor when Aunt Beth took me in. Even Jeremiah moved down to my floor when I moved in so we could be closer, and then it helped with the nightmare problem. I guess because Rayna’s room is on this floor and Jeremiah is an Alpha and expected to stay with her, obviously, his team is housed near him. It’s to make us all feel more comfortable, being close together, rather than feeling wary of being separated. We get special treatment since we are a packaged deal with Rayna. When we get to the floor I stop in my tracks as I smell the most amazing thing I have ever smelled in my whole life. It’s Rosemary and mint and something just inherently male. Whoever is wearing this cologne might get attacked by me later, it makes my whole body tingle in ways it never has before. I notice it’s all over this floor as we walk towards our rooms. I wonder if it is a warrior who patrols here. Damn. All my lady bits are on high alert now. “You alright?” A low voice sounded behind me.

I came with my best friend, Alpha Jeremiah, to meet his mate’s family, but ended up getting bred by her brother, Alpha Ryker. "Ahhh...slow down, they might hear us.” The shower's heavy stream barely masked the rhythmic sounds. "I don't care if they hear," he growled, pressing closer. "I want them to know. You're my mine, little human." I don't know why, but the moment I see Ryker, I was overwhelmed by burning desire. I wanted him to take me, to ruin me, to make me scream while he filled me so full I couldn’t walk. But I guess I'm just another quick fling for him, after all he's the most well-known and fearded Alpha King. "Ryker? Are you showering?" His sister Rayna's voice echoed outside the door. I scrambled behind the curtain, but his grip caught my wrist, yanking me back. "Where do you think you're going? I told you I'd keep your legs spread and your thighs soaked all day." "But... Ryker..." My protest was weak. A knock. "Ryker? Can I come in...Wait! You're in heat? Have you found your mate?!" ** As a human orphan, I was taken in by the Silver Crescent Pack since young and grew up inseparable from their future Alpha, Jeremiah. I thought we’d be friends for life—until his mate, Rayna, came into the picture... I grab my clothes and stuff them all into my bag before another wave of tears hits. Once everything is packed, I walk my two bags downstairs and set them by the front door and grit my teeth. I need to say something to Aunt Beth or she will tear this whole pack apart looking for me. I follow sounds to the common room. It doesn’t cross my mind to make myself known before I walk in. A moan and grunt and then “WHAT THE HELL?!” A female screech pierces my ears. “Oh sh*t! Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” I shield my eyes. “I was just looking for Aunt Beth before I head out.” I start to back out of the room as quickly as possible. “Ken, wait! Come back.” I hear a ton of cloth rustling and I move faster. “Nope! Not a chance. Continue, I will find her on my own, sorry for the interruption.” I continue down the hallway heading for the door fighting tears. It took less than an hour for him to be distracted enough to forget I’m even here. ‘Important’ is no longer a word anyone gets to use when it comes to how Jer feels about me. “Ken, stop.” He’s so fucking fast and right in front of me now, blocking my way to the front door. I slam my eyes closed. I’m not going to have his mate try to beat me up for looking at him naked. “Where are you going? Why do you have a bag packed? And why are you looking for Mom?” Now he’s worried? I mentally roll my eyes. “I was going to tell her I was heading out. Are you dressed? I like my eyes where they are in my face. I don't need them ripped out.” I squeezed my eyes tighter and ignored his other questions. “Yes.” He laughs. “Now look at me and tell me where you are going. What’s going on?” “I told you, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m going to go stay at Ben’s so I’m not a problem.” “What are you talking about? I left you my shirt, that usually works when I’m gone. And since when have you ever been a problem?” “Really? Are you that dense? The shirt isn’t working anymore.” I lied. “And It became a problem when you found your mate, who you very obviously forgot to say anything to, cause she didn’t expect me based on the welcome I got when you brought her home. She doesn't want me here and you aren't going to choose.” “I’m right here, you know. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room.” Her voice comes up close behind me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, then out. Don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude, don’t get an attitude. I have to keep repeating to myself. This is not her fault, she’s just as much a victim here as I am and she has just as much if not more right to be angry than I do. “I still don't understand the problem?” Jeremiah looks from her to me and back again. It’s my turn to glare and growl and I don’t even have a wolf. Jer’s eyes go wide and he takes a step back from me. Hands up in a surrendering gesture. At least he’s smart enough to know we are both pissed, even if he doesn’t understand the problem. “Why are boys so stupid?!” I don’t yell, but my temper is getting harder and harder to control. I let out another sigh and decided to get this over with. I turn around. “Rayna, I’m Kennedy, Jeremiah’s best friend, his female best friend. I live here in the packhouse.” I gesture around me. “I’ve been here for the last three years. My mom was his mom’s best friend and I’m here because my parents died three years ago. I still have nightmares from that day and Jeremiah usually sleeps in my room with me…” I get nothing else out when she launches herself at me snarling and grabbing for my hair. She’s strong but I don’t know if she trains much, her movement is clumsy. We both fall back and I take the brunt of both our weights before flipping us both over trying to gain the advantage. I don’t want to hurt her, but I also don’t want to get hurt by her. She’s clawing at everything she can and her legs are kicking wildly underneath me. She’s snarling and growling but having a hard time getting words out. “You b*ch! You can’t have him!” She yells as she swipes at my face with her nails and distracts me enough to shift our positions and move on top of me. I can feel the blood trickle down my face. She thinks I’m just a rando girl trying to claim her man. With all the time he has spent with her even since she found out about me, he still never explained who I was. Jackass. Now I understand her frustration, I would find that shady too, and I’m fighting to get words out to reassure her while not letting her hurt me. I can only get a few choppy syllables uttered here and there while trying to hold her off. “I don’t f*cking want him you crazy ass. He’s like my brother.” I grunt as she gets a good punch to my stomach. “But you would know that if you two spent just as much time talking as you do f*cking! Now stop trying to claw my eyes out!” That made her pause long enough for me to thrust my hips and flip her on her back. I have her wrists in my hands and finally get them pinned above her head. She’s still flailing as I’m straddling her torso leaning in almost nose to nose. We are both panting, but she’s slowly stopped fighting me. Maybe she realized I’m not trying to hurt her back or my words are sinking in. Whatever, it’s working. “Stop trying to kill me. He’s like my brother.” I say again, breathing hard, now that I seem to have some of her attention. “He should have told you about me and to be honest a heads up about you would have been nice. But sometimes these boys aren’t the brightest.” I rolled my eyes and finally looked up at him just staring at us and noticed we have a whole audience. “Oh Goddess! That is so f*cking hot! How did you get so lucky?” Tommy slaps Jeremiah on the back and bites down on his lower lip. Such a perv. “So all four of you assholes just stood there and let us fight? You weren’t concerned for your best friend or your future Luna hurting each other? We should beat the sh*t out of all of you instead.” Ben and Jason roll their eyes, then Ben walks over. “You two get it out of your system?” He reaches his hand out to me. “Maybe.” I raise an eyebrow looking back at her, slowly releasing her arms and sitting back, straddling her waist, waiting for her to take a cheap shot. Nothing comes so I take his offered hand. Jason helps Rayna up. I fix my clothes and run my fingers through my hair, not looking at anyone. “I’m ready Ben, let’s go.” They need to talk and decide if this is something she can deal with. I don’t want to walk away, but an Alpha needs his Luna. In this case she is more important. My friendship with Jeremiah is solely in her hands. If she says no, then that's it, for now at least. I start walking toward the front door. I set my jaw, I will not cry again. I have said my peace and I can only hope she believes my words. This is for Jeremiah to explain and fix if he wants to keep me in his life. He has to make her see what he and I are, and she has to believe it’s not romantic. “Wait, don’t go.” Her voice is sweet but confident and I don’t know if I can do this. I shake my head and keep moving. “Please, we should talk.” I keep looking at the door. “I really do need to try and sleep, that wasn’t a line. Don’t make this any harder for me. Please. I need to go.” My plea came out barely audible to my own ears, but I know they can hear me. It is getting harder to breathe. “But you live here…” She’s right behind me whispering. I know the guys can hear us though. I keep my eyes locked in the door. Each breath is controlled in and then out. “Yep… for now… and soon you will too. I need to learn how to work through the nightmares and bullsh*t on my own anyway, but this was kind of a shock.” I bend over and grab my bags, my hands still sore from my impromptu workout earlier. She stops me, her hand on mine. The first tear falls. I shake my head side to side, my heart is breaking. “Let’s go put these away and we can get to know each other. It seems like we will be spending a lot of time together.” She pulls on my hand holding the strap to my duffel bag. It wasn’t anything harsh or controlling, but something in me just snapped, and I don’t have the energy to fight her anymore. There go my tears again, stupid emotions. She takes my bag and slides her gentle hand on my upper arm turning me around. I sling my backpack on my shoulder, eyes down just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. We both walk up the stairs to head back to my room, Rayna right behind me without a backwards glance at the guys. “Ken…” Jeremiah breathes. I just shake my head and keep walking. “I think your girls just left you hanging, I hope you finished whatever you started in here brother otherwise you’re going to sleep with some blue balls.” Tommy is always the charmer. But the rest of the guys laugh as well. We get to my room and I drop my bag by my desk and take a deep breath before I turn around. I move to take my duffle from her and drop it next to my school bag. “Were you really just going to leave? No fight at all?” She seems appalled. “He’s my brother, not my boyfriend.” I’m kind of getting tired of saying that. “There’s never been anything like that between us. I understand how mates work, how integral they are. He’s an Alpha and an Alpha needs his Luna. There is nothing more important than that for the future of the pack. So yes, I was going to leave, because you don’t want me near him. You don't want me here.” I rub my face and go to sit on my bed and pat the place next to me. “I have never once run at my brother like that. I’m usually more inclined to throw something at him.” This has the effect of breaking the tension as I let out a strangled laugh. “But how close are you and your brother? In age, I mean?” “Six years difference. He’s 26, I’m 20” I nod. “ Jer and I are the same age, literally. We were born on the same day in the same hospital. That’s how close our mom’s were. My mom was visiting and they both went into labor at the same time. We are more like twins, basically raised that way.” She nods. “That explains a few things then. Not why he sleeps in your room, but we’ll get to that. What about the other guys?” “What about them?” I am trying to get my breathing under control now that she isn’t growling at me. I have a headache from all the crying too. “Oh, come on. There’s no way you left all of them alone! That much hotness and no mate yet. And they are all so protective over you. You are close with all of them, anyone can see it.” “What are you talking about ‘no mate yet?’ I’m human, do you know the odds of me being mated to someone? I can’t even be inducted into the pack, because the elders think it will kill me. I’m sure being marked would be just as bad.” I chose to skip her other statement. I don’t know her that well. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. We don’t have any humans in our pack right now though, so I’m not sure how that works.” “No idea, but Aunt Beth won’t even entertain the idea. So I’m a human in a werewolf pack with no actual connection to the pack, living with the Alpha’s family, but not blood related.” I say darkly. “So…I believe you’ve never had any romantic interest in Jeremiah. It’s written all over your face.” She giggles, like an actual little girl. “But, you avoided my other question, that means you have given the other guys a test drive.” She winks and I look at the door, sure someone is probably listening. “Test drive is a strong phrase.” I try to dodge. "Besides, what we've done are not nearly as hot as what I walked into downstairs a little bit ago. Did he forget other people live here or is that like a mate bond thing where you get horny all of a sudden and have to f*ck right where you are?” I was kind of joking, but I admitted I wanted to see her blush. “Maybe a little of both. I mean I didn’t know you lived here and his parents are still at the meeting. They'll be back in the morning so I didn’t see anything wrong with it. And it is kind of hard to keep my hands to myself when he’s around, you’ve seen him. ” She’s blushing, but there’s a little tone of disbelief in her voice. “Knock, knock! Is it safe? I would like to be able to have kids someday, Ken.” My door cracks open and my best friend stands in the frame, but waits for me to give him the okay. “We’re fine Jer. We just had to fill in some gaps you missed because you are a moron and let your d*ck take over thinking for you.” He huffed a laugh and walked in with two mugs, set them down on the side table and climbed on my bed behind Rayna. “I brought tea, thought it might help. We have an early start tomorrow, we all need to sleep.” He can’t keep his hands to himself either and it’s really cute watching him wrap her up in his arms. Her dark hair frames her heart shaped face contrasting with his light blonde hair. She leans back into his embrace. “What’s tomorrow?” I ask, confused, grabbing for the cup of tea. It’s a blend that the healer made when I told her I was still having nightmares and nothing else is working. “We are traveling to my pack so Jeremiah can meet my brother. He’s the Alpha, but was dealing with another urgent matter so my dad and I went to the meeting in his place.” “I'm glad you did.” He nuzzles her neck and I can hear his wolf purr. “Okay please don’t have s*x in my room. You have your own for those extra curricular activities. Jer,” I slap his leg. “Thank you for the tea, I should be good. Did the guys leave already? I didn’t even think to say goodbye.” I’m trying to rush them out. As cute as it is, I have heard that new mates escalate from light touching to f*cking quickly. And that isn’t something I want to see, no matter how hot my best friend and his new mate are. “Nah, they're all in the Media room. We figured it would be easier for everyone if we all just left from here in the morning.” “Why do you all have to go?” I’m still learning all the nuances of pack politics, but the thought of all of them being gone makes my heart sink. “We are all going, you included. When an Alpha travels for more than just a couple days, usually his team goes as well as long as someone is here to run the pack and Beta Daniel is still here and my parents will be back tomorrow too.” “What does any of that have to do with me?” “I’m sure that Rayna would like to have another female along. Traveling with all males all the time, can’t be fun. Besides, you’re one of my warriors and my best friend, I would like you there when I have to meet Rayna’s brother.” “Is that code for you’re afraid of my brother?!” Rayna laughs at him. “Umm, yes Luna!” He growls in her ear. “No sass from you. She’s always the buffer when there’s too much testosterone in the room. Kennedy has actually been to several meets with me. She’s really good with all the small talk and she remembers everything. It’s very handy. It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful and typically earns attention quickly. And your brother has the biggest pack territory and is one of the most notoriously dangerous Alphas, not to mention I’m about to take his sister away. I need all the help I can get.” I ignore the backhanded distraction comment and ask, “Wait, what pack are you from?” “Dark Moon.” My eyebrows shoot up. Even I have heard of them. I can’t remember the Alpha’s name, but he is ruthless from what I have heard. He takes over weak packs and eliminates Alphas like I go to school and turn in assignments. “Relax, He’s not that scary.” “Maybe for you, he loves you, for the rest of the world he’s intimidating. If the situation was reversed and someone came and told me they were Kennedy's mate and she’s packing her stuff and leaving today. I would probably try to beat the sh*t out of them. Mate bond or not.” I laugh with Rayna and then stop and stare at him. A thought just occurred to me, “Is that why no one here tries to date me? Cause you told them you’d beat the sh*t out of them?” “Uh…no…not exactly.” “But pretty close to being accurate?” “We may have insinuated that you could handle yourself and we would take care of whatever was left over.” “Good to know there’s a ‘we’ to yell at.” I look at Rayna. “How far is the drive to your pack? I need to make sure I have enough topics to yell at them for over the whole drive.” She giggles again and Jeremiah blanches, knowing I’m not lying. He only calms when she turns her head and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Okay go, you two are making me nauseous. I will see you in the morning.” They both get up to leave and make it to the door when Jer turns, “Do you need a shirt? I can grab one.” “I still have the one you gave me a couple days ago, I should be good. I have to start weaning sometime.” And just like that, we’re back to being weird. Even with a little history I don’t know how Rayna will feel about him giving clothes that smell like him to me. “Let me know if you need me, alright?” I just nod my head. There’s no way I’m yelling for him with his mate here. I fall asleep more quickly than I have in the last 3 nights. But, I’m not sure if that’s from him being back in the packhouse or being so tired from the days' drama I had no choice. Ryker Taking over Old Alpha Edward’s pack was never going to be easy—even when he invited me to do so. He was dying, yes, and wanted a peaceful handover, but peace was the last thing the pack offered. Arrogant wolves always surface during a power shift, testing boundaries, daring me to put them in their place. And I did. Three troublesome days later, the resistance finally broke. “Thank you, Ryker.” Alpha Edward sounds so weary. I think he has been holding on until he could see his pack safely taken care of. I’m surprised he made it as long as he did after his mate died. Many don’t. The pain from the loss of your mate is supposed to be the worst kind of torture imaginable. Many die from a broken heart or just go mad and have to be eliminated for everyone’s safety. I have dispatched many alpha’s for that alone. That’s one of the reasons Alphas are so protective of their Lunas and why I am sometimes glad I still haven’t found mine yet. My wolf always grumbles in my head when that thought crosses my mind. An Alpha is at his strongest when he has his fated Luna by his side and would burn the world for her and anyone who managed to capture her or hurt her would have a level of control over that Alpha. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do to save her, including sacrificing anyone or anything. I ripped a man’s arms off for having the audacity to touch my little sister after she said ‘no.’ I would probably do worse to someone who even looked at my mate. Just the idea of that kind of possession presses on my chest and terrifies me. I don’t want anyone to have that kind of effect on me. ... By the time night fall, I end my long day where all battles do—alone in the bathroom. I shower all the grime off and let the water sluice over my body. The hot water feels amazing against my muscles after so much time in the car and the late night run. Just as I was starting to really relax and my mind began making the mental list of things that I need to do, I felt a cool breeze and the scent of fake roses filled my nostrils and I grimaced. I turn around and grasp the girl around the throat after I let her get close. Had it been a male he would already be dead. I know that makes me some kind of chauvinist, shoot me, I’m not perfect. Her eyes are wide, but not afraid. She was sent here by Edward as a gesture of thanks. She’s good with instructions and the extra purring and vibrations are getting me close, but it’s not enough. I closed my eyes. She is not my type, at all, but I have a great imagination. I continue to slam my hips into her face as I picture perfect pouty lips, light blue eyes looking right at me and dark blonde hair tangled in my hands. I have had a vision of my perfect woman in my head for as long as I can remember and I have no idea why, but no one compares. I only let brunettes pleasure me because the only blonde I want is my dream girl. I can’t get off until I picture her, no matter how attractive or talented the woman I am with is. After I send her off, I try to go back to my list, but something is buzzing under my skin that has nothing to do with Edward’s pack or even the girl who just went down on me. I’ve felt it for days now. Not danger. Not anxiety. Nothing my instincts can clearly name. Just… something. Persistent. Distracting. And distractions are luxuries I can’t afford. The answer comes the moment I step out of the shower. A voicemail from my sister. She’s found her mate. My eyes squint dangerously. Guess it's time to go back home. Kennedy “Holy Sh*t Rayna. Your pack is beautiful!” I exclaim. We are finally in Rayna's pack. It's weird that I slept so well these days with her in the same car. I have never had another female settle me enough to sleep though, not even Aunt Beth. Maybe it’s because she’s a part of Jer, an extension of our connection is in her too because of the mate bond. Who knows. When I think I understand werewolf nature something always throws a wrench that makes me question the things that really should make sense, like mates. The hill we were going up didn’t dip back into a valley like I thought. It leveled out and the trees were full and lush, some of them even starting to change colors with the season. The path we were driving on was well maintained and the larger trees made a sort of canopy over us. Once we got past the long entry drive the path opened up to a large town that looked so classic and from a different era. It was something people would put on Christmas cards with red brick buildings and large shop windows. Everything is cozy and inviting. It looks like there are blocks of buildings that stretch into neighborhoods of homes. I knew this pack was big, but I didn't realize it was this big. We drive past a center square where a roundabout circles a central gazebo that is decorated for some special occasion. Off to one end there is a large park. I can see the top of a jungle gym in the distance. I’m going to have fun exploring here. As we drive further into the pack territory I can see the first industrial looking building and just beyond it looks like stadium seating. I wonder if that is part of their school. “Hey, Rayna. What is that over there?” I point to the building and seating. “Oh, that’s our training ground. My brother has built our pack so big that we have groups of warriors that come from all over to train, so the building is a dorm for them to stay in while they are here.” “When do they train? I would love to go watch.” “Evening training starts in a couple hours. Why don’t we all go to the packhouse and drop off our stuff, change and grab a bite to eat and then we can join. I’m sure the guys would love to move around after being your pillow the whole trip.” She laughs at me. “Food sounds amazing!” Tommy chirps from next to her and the rest of us laugh. She guides Jeremiah through the town pointing things out as we go and I can’t keep my jaw off the floor. This is nothing like the rumors say. Everything is classically timeless and gorgeous. We get to the pack house which is very grand and has a touch of the old world look to it too, but I don’t have time to admire for long, my boys are hungry and in a hurry. One of the Omegas helps us all to our rooms. I’m surprised to learn that we are on the Alpha’s floor as guests, but when I mention it to Rayna her explanation both helps me understand and confuses me. I don’t always get pack hierarchy culture and didn’t really think about different packs doing things in different ways. I always thought the Alpha and the Alpha’s immediate family liked to have a floor to themselves. It was a way to escape the pack a bit, like celebrities having a gate surrounding their mansions to keep out paparazzi. A place where no one but their designated Omegas went. I was only allowed on the Alpha floor when Aunt Beth took me in. Even Jeremiah moved down to my floor when I moved in so we could be closer, and then it helped with the nightmare problem. I guess because Rayna’s room is on this floor and Jeremiah is an Alpha and expected to stay with her, obviously, his team is housed near him. It’s to make us all feel more comfortable, being close together, rather than feeling wary of being separated. We get special treatment since we are a packaged deal with Rayna. When we get to the floor I stop in my tracks as I smell the most amazing thing I have ever smelled in my whole life. It’s Rosemary and mint and something just inherently male. Whoever is wearing this cologne might get attacked by me later, it makes my whole body tingle in ways it never has before. I notice it’s all over this floor as we walk towards our rooms. I wonder if it is a warrior who patrols here. Damn. All my lady bits are on high alert now. “You alright?” A low voice sounded behind me.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”