Chapter 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.