1

“Daddy, Daddy! Does that mean we finally get to see the nice lady again today?”

I hadn’t heard my son Daniel sound this lively in quite a while.

Through the speakerphone, I heard my husband’s voice.

“You miss her that much, Daniel?”

“Of course!” Daniel replied excitedly. “Pretty Lady is gentle and she likes me. She’s way better than Mommy! Mommy has been sooo annoying these past few days. She won’t let me eat too many things! Daddy, I want to take Pretty Lady to eat at our favorite restaurant!”

“All right, Daniel,” Alex said. “But do you remember what you promised me?”

“Mommy must never find out!” Daniel answered quickly, delighted.

“You’ve already told me so many times, Daddy!”

“Good. I’ll come pick you up later. Remember to wear your favorite sweater.”

The call ended.

I covered my mouth with one hand, and couldn't believe what I heard. A flood of terrifying possibilities flashed through her mind in an instant. 

 With my other hand, I gripped tightly the carefully wrapped bag that contained Daniel’s handmade school project.

Today was supposed to be the day Daniel attended his weekly hobby class, and Alex and I had agreed that he would come pick Daniel up.

As usual, when I walked my neatly dressed son to the door, Daniel—who always insisted he was already a big boy—urged me to hurry back inside and said he would wait there for Daddy by himself.

Only after I returned home did I realize that the craft project Daniel had happily worked on for a long time over the past few days had been left behind.

“Still saying he’s a big boy,” I muttered with a helpless smile.

I picked it up and went back out to deliver it to him.

I never expected to overhear a secret phone call between my son and my husband.

I was not a woman who easily doubted my own family. But something just felt off this time. 

The dark thought—that my husband had betrayed me, and that my son was helping him hide it—flashed through my mind, making me feel a sudden urge to vomit.

“Mommy? Why are you here?”

Daniel saw me. His expression was briefly unnatural, but it was soon replaced by annoyance and displeasure.

“I told you to go back. Why did you come out again?”

“I came to give you this,” I answered instinctively, holding up the bag in my hand.

“Ah!” Daniel cried out in surprise and ran over in a few quick steps, snatching the delicate pink bag from my hands.

He checked it up and down nervously, then complained unhappily,

“Mommy! Why are you always so clumsy? You wrinkled my gift bag!”

“Gift bag?” I immediately caught the slip.

“I mean… the wrapping bag. Whatever you call it.”

Daniel lowered his voice and avoided my eyes, but then instantly brightened.

“Daddy’s here!”

A luxury Ferrari pulled up in front of our house. The window rolled down, revealing my handsome and wealthy husband, Alex Reach.

He seemed surprised to see me standing there and got out of the car.

“You look a little pale, darling,” he said gently as he stepped closer.

With his gloved hand, he touched my cheek, cupped my face, and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

“Go back inside. It’s windy out here. I’ll take good care of Daniel.”

Looking at his usual gentle, affectionate smile, I found myself unable to ask any of the questions in my heart.

There must be some misunderstanding.

I struggled inwardly.

Alex didn’t notice anything wrong with me. He lifted up the clearly impatient Daniel and put him into the car.

“Goodbye, Jenny.”

As I watched the car carrying my husband and son drive away, I kept telling myself that there had to be some misunderstanding and that I should just ask Alex about it later.

But a woman’s intuition made me quickly piece together recent events in my mind.

Alex had been coming home very late lately.

He often smelled of perfume.

Last time, when I mentioned luxury brands to a friend, Alex—who should have known nothing about them—had unexpectedly joined the conversation.

Suddenly, I remembered something.

When Alex had just gotten out of the Ferrari, there had seemed to be a strange woman’s coat thrown on the back seat.

My heart dropped.

I couldn’t wait any longer. 

I quickly flagged down a taxi by the roadside, got in, and said,

“Follow the car in front!”

The driver looked at my pale, anxious face and the apron I was still wearing.

He seemed to understand something and stepped on the gas without asking a single question.

I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but that Ferrari seemed to deliberately take a longer route.