Chapter Three

I woke up to the sound of Richard’s phone buzzing against the nightstand. It was still early, too early. The sun hadn't even filtered in through the curtains yet, but he stirred beside me, blindly reaching out for the device. I didn’t say anything at first. I just watched him from the curve of the pillow, my cheek pressed against the cool linen, eyes half-lidded.

 He squinted at the screen, then smiled. Not just a twitch of the lips, not the half-hearted grin he gave me when he was trying to humor me. This one was real. Bright, even. It made something in my chest twist.

 "Good news?" I asked softly, my voice raspy with sleep.

 He looked startled like he’d forgotten I was there. Then he smiled again, the one he meant for me this time. “Yeah. Work stuff. Just a project finally coming together.”

 I gave him a small nod, forcing my voice to sound light. “That’s great.”

 I didn’t push. I didn’t ask to see the message. I never did. I was Mrs. Anderson, after all... the wife. Not the investigator. Not the suspicious one. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who questioned every glance, every text, every unexplained mood swing.

 And yet… that smile. That secret smile.

 He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got an early call today. I’ll shower first.”

 As he headed toward the bathroom, I stayed curled in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Something about the way he’d clutched the phone to his chest before walking away unsettled me. Like he didn’t want me to see what else was on it.

 But I didn’t say anything.

 Instead, I got up, made breakfast, set the table, and even cut up fresh fruit the way he liked mangoes and watermelon with a touch of mint. Today was supposed to be our day. Our anniversary, for God’s sake. Two years married. Three together.

 But he barely glanced at the table when he came down. He grabbed his jacket, muttered something about being late, and reached for his keys.

 “You’re not eating?” I asked, trying not to let my voice shake.

 He hesitated. “I’ll grab something on the way. I need to be at the office early.”

 I stood there in my robe, barefoot on the cold marble, watching the man I loved rush out the door without even a "Happy Anniversary." Without a kiss. Without a second glance.

 Just like that, he was gone.

 I didn’t cry.

 Instead, I sat down at the breakfast table and ate alone, chewing slowly through the silence. I sipped coffee that had gone bitter in the pot. I looked down at my wedding band... gold, simple, with his initials engraved on the inside and wondered if he even remembered.

 But still, I told myself not to overreact. Maybe he was planning something. A surprise. He’d always been more quiet, more reserved with emotions. Maybe he had dinner planned, or a gift waiting at work. I let myself believe that for a few hours.

 I spent the day preparing. I made his favorite meal from scratch... seafood linguine with extra clams, the way he liked it. I even baked the lemon cake I always teased him about. He swore he didn’t like sweets, but he always went back for a second slice.

 Then I dressed.

 Not just dressed... dressed up. I pulled out the midnight-blue silk dress that hugged my curves and made my eyes stand out. He once told me I looked like a painting in it and matches my eyes. I curled my hair, added soft makeup, and spritzed on the perfume he bought me two anniversaries ago.

 By seven, the table was set. The candles were lit. The wine was breathing.

 And then my phone buzzed.

 Husband:

 Working late. Don’t wait up. Client meeting ran over. Love you.

 No mention of dinner.

 No mention of the anniversary.

 Just that.

 I stood there for a long time, reading and rereading the message. My hand clenched the back of the dining chair so tightly my knuckles turned white. I stared at the perfectly plated pasta, the flickering candles, the soft glow of everything I’d planned, and I felt so foolish.

 But something inside me snapped.

 I didn’t want to be the kind of woman who sat around, doubting. I wanted to know. For better or worse.

 So I packed up the dinner in containers, wrapped the cake, grabbed the wine, and called for the driver.

 “Mrs. Anderson?” he asked as I slid into the backseat. “Are we going to Mr. Anderson’s office?”

 “Yes,” I said tightly. “He forgot his dinner.”

 The building looked quiet when we pulled up, but I told myself it was just late. People had gone home. Richard was probably inside, hunched over some design brief, too focused to remember what day it was.

 But when I walked through the lobby and approached the receptionist, her confused expression made my stomach drop.

 “Mrs. Anderson,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”

 “Yes,” I said, still holding the cake box. “I’m just here to drop off dinner for Richard. Is he upstairs?”

 Her smile faltered. “He didn’t come in today.”

 I blinked. “What?”

 “I haven’t seen him at all. Not since yesterday afternoon.”

 I tried to keep my voice steady. “Are you sure?”

 She nodded. “Maybe he had meetings elsewhere?”

 I forced a smile. “Yes. Maybe.”

 But I was already dialing him as I walked out of the building.

 He picked up quickly. “Tessa? Everything okay?”

 I closed my eyes. “Where are you?”

 “With the client. Why?”

 “At the office?”

 A pause. “Yeah. Just stepped outside for a minute.”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Of course. Why?”

 “Just wondering,” I said softly. “I made dinner.”

 “Tessa…” he sighed. “I told you not to wait.”

 “I didn’t,” I said, and hung up.

 Back in the car, I didn’t cry. I sat still, legs folded neatly, hands resting over the cake box. My chest felt tight, but my mind was racing.

 That message. The one I saw a few nights ago flashing on his phone. The one he’d quickly swiped away:

 Miss Stacy has finally woken up. The surgery can proceed anytime – Sky Line Hospital.

 I pulled out my phone and searched the hospital number. My fingers shook as I dialed.

 “Hello, Sky Line Hospital,” came the polite female voice.

 “Hi,” I said, trying to keep calm. “I’m inquiring about a patient, Miss Stacy. I just wanted to know if she had any visitors today.”

 There was a brief silence as the woman checked.

 “Yes,” she said finally. “A man named Richard Anderson. He’s been with her most of the day.”

 I didn’t speak.

 I couldn’t.

 The air in the car felt thick, suffocating. I lowered the window, hoping the breeze would help, but nothing could cool the fire rising in my chest.

 Richard wasn’t with a client. He wasn’t working late.

 He was with Stacy.

 All day.

 On our anniversary.

 Who was Tessa?

 And what surgery?

 Now I'm curious to know why my husband had spent the most important day of our marriage with another woman.

 I definitely need answers...