Wyatt Foster

Before my birthday, I posted a photo of an antique brooch on my Instagram story. The next day, I saw an order confirmation from Cartier on my husband, Ronan Wells’s, lock screen. Assuming it was my birthday gift, I pretended I hadn’t seen it. A few days later, I saw that same brooch on the Instagram of my business partner and friend, Maya. “Unexpected gift. The people who understand me always remember what I like. ✨” I told myself it was probably just the same style. Until late that night, when I opened Ronan’s phone and saw the shopping app. The recipient on the order page was Maya. ... The tape measure slipped off the table and clattered to the floor. Just then, my phone lit up. The pearl brooch I’d ordered for myself had shipped. Tracking said it would arrive tomorrow. I was about to text the screenshot to a friend when a new post from Maya popped up on my feed. I tapped it open. It was a series of photos. She stood before the camera, beaming, wearing a champagne-colored gown I had tried on once at a boutique in SoHo. But the first thing I noticed wasn’t the dress. It was the pearl brooch pinned to her chest. Exactly the same as the one I’d ordered. The caption was that same line again: “Unexpected gift. The people who understand me always remember what I like. ✨” I stared at the screen, my breathing suddenly shallow. Did Maya have a boyfriend? She and I spent more than ten hours a day together at the studio. If she were in a new relationship, there was no way I wouldn’t know about it. My thoughts went straight to Ronan. The next second, I shoved the thought away. Impossible. I’d just been exhausted lately. That’s why my mind went there. How could those two have anything to do with each other? It was just a coincidence. Just then, my phone buzzed again. Maya had replied to a friend in the comments: “Thanks to the people around me ❤️” I screenshotted it immediately. A few seconds later, that reply was deleted. “Maybe it’s just the same design,” I whispered to myself. I picked up my stylus and tried to continue drawing on my Wacom tablet, but my hand trembled, dragging the pen across the design and ruining it. I couldn’t sit still. I grabbed my car keys and drove to Ronan’s office in Midtown Manhattan. I knew he was probably in a client meeting at this hour. But I couldn’t wait.I parked at the corner and stared at the building’s revolving doors. After what felt like an eternity, Ronan finally emerged. And walking beside him was Maya. She was wearing that champagne-colored gown, a smile she couldn't seem to contain plastered on her face. Her fingers drifted to the brooch on her chest, a deliberate gesture, as if reminding someone to look. Ronan turned to her, his smile easy and relaxed. I hadn’t seen that kind of smile on his face in a long time. Then he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her windblown hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural. As if he’d done it a thousand times before. I sat in the car, my hands and feet going numb. I watched them get into an Uber together. I didn’t follow. Tears streamed down my face before I realized I’d been biting my lip the whole time. When I got home, I sat alone in the living room and looked around the space we had decorated together. Suddenly, it felt like someone else’s home. That evening, Ronan walked in right on time, carrying a Lady M cake box. He came over and ruffled my hair the way he always did. “Delphine, have you been waiting long?” I caught the floral scent on him, and my whole body went rigid. It was Maya’s signature rose perfume. So cloying it made me sick. “Come on, let’s blow out the candles. I kept it simple this year. You said you wanted to keep things simple, right?” He didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, busy opening the cake box. I looked at the mille crepe cake and fel......