Chapter 1: The perfect wife, the perfect lie

The house was perfect White marble countertops gleamed under warm pendant lights. Fresh flowers rotated twice a week. A home straight out of lifestyle magazines, with captions like #Goals and LivingTheDream.

But perfection had nothing to do with how I felt.

I stood in my kitchen, staring at the anniversary dinner I’d spent three hours preparing. Herb-crusted salmon, his favorite. Roasted vegetables arranged just so. A chocolate soufflé waiting in the oven, timed to rise at exactly 8 PM.

It was 9:47 PM. My phone sat face-up on the counter, screen dark. No missed calls. No apologetic texts. I’d called twice. Both went to voicemail.

He’s busy, I told myself the same lie I’d whispered six months ago when I found the hotel receipt. the same lie three months ago when “Jennifer from Accounting” texted at 2 AM. The same lie last month when I smelled perfume on his collar.

The salmon had gone cold. The soufflé had collapsed an hour ago.

The garage door opened at 10:13 PM.

Marcus walked in, tie loosened, jacket slung over his shoulder, smelling like expensive cologne. He smiled but not at me. At his phone.

“Hey, babe,” he said absently, typing.

“Hey.” My voice was smaller than I intended. “I made dinner. Anniversary dinner.”

He glanced up, confused. “Anniversary?”

“Three years. Today.”

Something flickered across his face guilt, maybe, or annoyance that I remembered. “Shit, Eleanor, I’m sorry. Work’s been insane. Brody’s breathing down my neck about the Harriman account”

“I can reheat”

“Actually, I grabbed something with the team. We closed the Harriman deal tonight. Celebrated at Lucia’s.”

Lucia’s. The Italian place where we’d had our first date. Without me.

“Oh.”

He kissed the top of my head perfunctory, automatic and headed upstairs. “I’m beat. Long day.”

I watched him go, a stranger in my husband’s body. Something inside me cracked.

“Marcus,” I called out.

He paused on the third step, half-turned. Impatient.

“Who’s she?”

“Who’s who?” His jaw tightened.

“Whoever you’re texting. That made you smile like that. Whoever’s perfume I keep smelling. Whoever keeps you out until ten on our anniversary.”

“Eleanor.” His tone was sharp, dismissive. “You’re being paranoid again”

“Don’t. Don’t gaslight me. I can see it, Marcus. I’m not blind.”

“There’s nothing to see! I work my ass off for us, for this house, and you’re gonna accuse me of what? Cheating? Because I forgot our anniversary?”

“You didn’t forget you were at our restaurant. Just not with me.”

His expression shifted caught, then calculating. “It was a work dinner, Eleanor.”

“With who?”

“The team. Jensen, Mike, Kelly, and some clients. Happy?”

Kelly. He said it too fast, too defensive.

“I want to see your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone. If there’s nothing to hide, show me.”

His face hardened. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not indulging your insecurity”

“SHOW ME YOUR PHONE!”

The words ripped out of me in a single scream. the wine glass slipped from my hand, shattering against the marble red liquid spreading like blood across the perfect white floor.

“What is wrong with you? Look what you did,” Marcus said quietly, cold. “Clean that up.”

He turned and walked upstairs.

I stood in my red dress, surrounded by broken glass and a ruined dinner. the good wife, the understanding wife I felt her slip away like a ghost, leaving something raw and angry in her place.