I made him breakfast like always—coffee, omelet, soft morning light. Then I saw her name light up his phone. By sunset, I’d rented an apartment to his mistress—with a spare key in my pocket and a plan in my heart.
I set the table like I always do. Plates with blue cornflowers around the rim—wedding gift from Aunt Joyce—coffee steaming in his favorite navy-blue mug, the one chipped on the handle, and an omelet the way Richard liked.
Extra cheese, a dash of paprika. A slice of toast cut in half, diagonally. He said straight cuts looked “too cafeteria.”
The morning light curled into the kitchen like a sleepy cat, golden and slow. Everything felt quiet, like the world was holding its breath.
I should’ve known then. Happiness never glides in like that unless it’s fixing to leave.
Richard walked in, his shoes making dull thuds on the linoleum floor. He didn’t say good morning.
Just sat down, eyes glued to that damn phone, thumbs tapping, scrolling. His fork scraped the plate with lazy indifference.
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked, watching steam rise from his coffee like smoke from a small fire. No answer. I tried again.
“You still want to go to that fundraiser Saturday? The one at the community center? They’re raffling off that big grill.”
Don’t know. Busy weekend,” he muttered, not looking up.
I kept going, like a fool with a broom sweeping dust in the wind. “We should repaint the garage too. The trim’s peeling. Looks like the house is frowning.”
“Uh-huh.”
Then it buzzed.
He didn’t even flinch. Just let the phone light up in his hand like it had more right to his attention than I did.
I saw it—Carol, with a photo of a woman I didn’t know. Long red hair, too perfect teeth, head tilted just so like she knew someone was watching and liked it.
Something inside me twisted. My breath caught like it had tripped on itself.
“Who’s Carol?” I asked, trying to make my voice sound casual, smooth, light as air. It came out soft, but my ears rang like I’d screamed.
He didn’t even blink. “Colleague,” he said flatly. “We’ve got a weekend strategy meeting out of town.”
“Oh,” I said. “All weekend?”
“Till Monday.” He stood, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket like the conversation was over. “I’ll text you when I get there.”
He leaned in, kissed my cheek. The same cheek he used to cup with his hand when we danced in the living room.
The same one he used to whisper into when we were still new. That kiss now? It was cold. Routine. Like rinsing a plate and putting it back in the rack.
Then he was gone.
I stood at the window, fingers gripping the curtain. His car backed out, then rolled down the street, shrinking into the distance. My coffee sat untouched. Cold now. Bitter.
My gut whispered something to me. It had been whispering for a while. I just hadn’t listened. But I heard it now, loud and clear. Something was wrong.
Still, work doesn’t wait, even when your world teeters on its edge. That afternoon, I had a new client coming in to rent one of our weekend apartments.
So I folded up my worry like laundry. Neat. Tucked away. Not gone, just hidden.
For now.
The office smelled like lavender and printer toner, a mix of calm and work that usually settled my nerves.
I straightened a vase of daisies in the foyer, adjusting the stems so they stood tall and proud.
The light outside was soft, the kind that made everything look gentler than it really was. Then the door chimed.
I looked up—and froze.
It was her. Carol.
That red hair, shiny and smooth, the same smile that had haunted my memory since morning. The same face I’d seen glowing on Richard’s phone.
She looked confident, like she belonged everywhere she went. Not a single worry on her perfect face.
She walked up and extended her hand. Her nails were neat, painted a soft pink.
“Mila, right? I’m Carol. I heard you’re the best in town,” she said, laughing like wind chimes in a spring breeze.
I took her hand. It felt cold, like ice. Mine was burning hot, but I didn’t let it show. “Nice to meet you,” I said, my voice steady.
As we walked through the apartment, I forced myself to stay calm. “What brings you here for the weekend?” I asked.
She smiled wider, her eyes sparkling. “A little romance,” she said, dragging her finger along the edge of the kitchen island.
“It’s the first real weekend away we’ve had. He travels for work, you know. But this weekend? It’s just us.”
I nodded, keeping my face smooth. “Sounds lovely.”
She had no idea.
By four o’clock, we finished signing the lease. I handed her the keys with one hand. But in my other hand, tucked inside my coat pocket, I held on to the spare.
And that one? That one was for me.
The drive home felt longer than usual. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky with that deep, blood-orange glow that makes everything look like it’s burning.
It felt like the sky was feeling what I couldn’t say out loud. I rolled the window down, letting the cold air hit my face.
I needed something sharp, something real. I needed the wind to slap the lies out of me.
I picked up my phone and called Richard.
“You leaving tonight, honey?” I asked, trying to sound normal, like I didn’t already know the answer.