Chapter 1
My wife was leaving me on our fifth wedding anniversary.
Not because someone had died.
Not because there was an emergency.
But because another man was heartbroken.
I stood beside the dining table, still wearing the black apron I had used to cook her favorite meal, watching Nia shove her chair backward.
The sudden scrape against our hardwood floor made me flinch.
“Daniel needs me,” she announced, grabbing her purse.
I stared at her.
“What?”
She snatched her car keys from the counter.
“Daniel. He's having a terrible night.”
I glanced at the clock.
7:42 p.m.
Five years earlier, at almost that exact moment, Nia had stood in a white wedding dress and promised to put our marriage first.
Tonight, she wouldn't even sit down to eat.
“You're leaving now?”
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
Nia sighed impatiently.
“Marcus, please don't start.”
“Start what?”
“This jealousy thing.”
I looked at the dinner table.
Two plates of lemon-herb chicken.
Roasted potatoes.
Asparagus with garlic butter.
A bottle of sparkling cider because Nia had stopped drinking alcohol six months earlier.
White roses arranged around three candles.
Everything was exactly as she liked it.
I had spent four hours preparing dinner.
I had also taken the afternoon off from my construction company, something I rarely did during our busiest season.
And Nia hadn't taken a single bite.
“Tonight is our fifth anniversary,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“I know what day it is.”
“Then why are you walking out?”
“Because my friend needs emotional support.”
“Your friend?”
“Daniel.”
I nodded slowly.
Of course.
Daniel Foster.
The name had become a permanent guest in our marriage.
Daniel needed help moving furniture.
Daniel wanted advice about his girlfriend.
Daniel had a difficult meeting at work.
Daniel couldn't sleep.
Daniel was lonely.
Somehow, whenever Daniel needed something, my wife became available.
But when I needed her, she was exhausted.
“His girlfriend broke up with him,” Nia explained.
I looked at her.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“And he can't call someone else?”
She crossed her arms.
“I'm his closest friend.”
“I'm your husband.”
Her expression hardened.
“Don't make me feel guilty for being a good person.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
For three weeks, I had planned our anniversary.
I had ordered a weekend getaway to Savannah.
I had arranged for us to renew our vows privately at the botanical gardens where I proposed.
I even bought her a necklace engraved with the date we first met.
The small velvet box was hidden beneath my napkin.
Nia hadn't noticed.
She was too busy worrying about Daniel.
“He told me he can't be alone tonight,” she said.
I looked toward the door.
“And what exactly are you supposed to do?”
“Talk to him.”
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
“An hour?”
“Marcus.”
“Two hours?”
She grabbed her purse tighter.
“Stop interrogating me.”
I removed my apron.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Because I knew that if I moved too quickly, I might say something I couldn't take back.
“Funny,” I said.
She frowned.
“What?”
“You've never rushed to me like this.”
Her expression changed.
“That's not fair.”
“When my father was in the hospital, you told me you couldn't leave your meeting.”
“That was different.”
“When my business nearly collapsed last year, you said I needed to handle my own stress.”
“Marcus, stop.”
“When I asked you to spend one weekend without your phone, you called me controlling.”
She looked away.
“But Daniel sends one message, and suddenly nothing else matters.”
Nia turned toward me.
“Don't make this about us.”
I stared at her.
“It is about us.”
For a moment, something flickered across her face.
Guilt.
Fear.
Maybe both.
Then she shook her head.
“You're being ridiculous.”
Her phone vibrated against the dining table.
We both looked down.
The screen illuminated.
DANIEL.
Are you coming? I told you I can't do tonight without you.
I looked at the message.
Then at my wife.
She stepped toward the table.
“Give me my phone.”
I picked it up before she reached it.
“Marcus.”
I didn't unlock anything.
The message was visible on the screen.
“What does he mean he can't do tonight without you?”
“He's upset.”
“Then why does this sound like an appointment?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You're twisting things.”
Another vibration interrupted her.
A second message appeared.
And remember what we agreed you'd tell Marcus tonight.
The room went silent.
I read the words once.
Then again.
My stomach dropped.
Nia's face lost its color.
I looked up.
“What exactly were you planning to tell me?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I waited.
The candles flickered between us.
Finally, she whispered, “Marcus, please.”
I stared at the woman I had loved for seven years.
The woman I married at twenty-seven.
The woman who cried in my arms when we moved into this house.
The woman who promised there would never be secrets between us.
I slowly removed my wedding ring.
Nia's eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
I placed the ring beside her untouched plate.
“I'm giving you a chance to tell me the truth.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Her hands trembled.
“It's complicated.”
I glanced at the phone again.
“What did you agree to tell me?”
She stared at the floor.
I felt something inside me begin to break.
“Are you leaving me for Daniel?”
Nia looked up sharply.
“No!”
“Then what?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Marcus, I never meant for this to happen.”
Those words were worse than a confession.
Because they told me something had already happened.
Something she couldn't undo.
I stepped backward.
“What did you do?”
She began crying.
I didn't move to comfort her.
For the first time in our marriage, I didn't know whether her tears were real.
The phone vibrated again.
Daniel.
Don't lose your nerve. He deserves to know the truth about us.
My chest tightened.
I turned the screen toward Nia.
She covered her mouth.
I whispered, “About us?”
She closed her eyes.
“Nia.”
My voice cracked.
“Look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
And what I saw there frightened me more than anger ever could.
She looked like someone whose carefully constructed life was collapsing.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “before I tell you, you need to promise you won't hate me.”
I stared at her.
I had never hated anyone I loved.
But that night, standing beside the dinner I had prepared for our anniversary, I was beginning to understand why some people stopped believing in love.
“I can't promise that,” I said.
She began trembling.
Then she reached inside her purse.
And pulled out a white envelope.
May you like
My name was written across the front.
In Daniel's handwriting.
