My Husband Took Another Woman on a Bridal Photo Shoot

I stood in the chilly lobby with my suitcase, my palms damp with sweat.

The big screen displayed a screenshot of the mountain photo Cecil had posted on Instagram minutes earlier.

On the snowy summit, Cecil had his arm around Daria's shoulders. They wore matching red parkas.

Daria was holding two passports and laughing, her eyes crinkled shut, while a white wedding gown was draped over the suitcase behind them.

The people gathered around the screen buzzed with excitement.

"God, Mr. Smith is so romantic. He flew her overseas just to take bridal photos on a mountain."

"And that gown is obviously custom-made. I'm so jealous."

I walked a few steps closer, my heels clicking sharply against the floor.

They turned at the sound, saw who it was, and the lobby went dead quiet.

Daria's assistant, Kayla, awkwardly put her phone away and gave me an odd look.

"Oh. Mrs. Smith. What are you still doing here?

"Weren't you the one Mr. Smith took overseas?"

I looked at the curious, gleeful faces around me, my knuckles white around the suitcase handle.

That suitcase was full of clothes I'd stayed up late packing so I could go abroad with him.

Daria joined the firm a year ago.

Back then, she was a small-time model who could barely walk a runway. Cecil took her to castings himself and taught her how to work the camera.

Later, Daria hurt herself during a depressive episode, and Cecil's concern for her went far beyond what was appropriate for an employer.

The day I was hospitalized for gastrointestinal bleeding, Cecil was at a therapist's office with Daria.

On my thirtieth birthday, he'd already bought the cake. Then Daria cried on a rooftop, and that was all it took to make him turn around and leave.

Every time, he shut me down with the same excuse: Daria needed him, while I was too strong to need anything.

I used to be certain the man who had spent eight years building this with me would never change.

He had done so much for me over those years.

When my mother died and I couldn't get out of bed, he canceled every job he had and stayed with me.

When I got sick, he took care of me around the clock.

He once saved six months' worth of pay just to surprise me with a necklace I'd mentioned liking in passing.

So when he said he'd give me the grandest wedding imaginable once he made the Hall of Fame, I didn't doubt him for a second.

Now the trophy sat in his office, yet he'd gone to a mountain in another country to keep that promise to someone else.

My phone rang. Cecil.

I answered. Before I could speak, his irritated voice came through the phone.

"Nora, why are you making a scene at the office?

"Daria's assistant says you brought a suitcase to the office. What's that supposed to mean?"

I looked around at all the whispering and kept my voice down.

"Cecil, why didn't you tell me you were going abroad?"

"This is work."

He sounded exhausted, as if he were talking to an unreasonable child. "Don't you understand how important this mountain shoot is to the firm? Daria's in a bad place. She can only find inspiration in extreme environments."

"And the passports? The gown? Are those for work too?"

The line went silent for a few seconds.

Then he sighed.

"Nora, when did you become so unreasonable?

"The passports are Daria's. The gown is a prop the sponsor sent.

"Stop being suspicious of everything. It's exhausting."

I gripped the phone, my eyes painfully dry.

"Our wedding is on the eighteenth of next month.

"Can you be back for it?"

His voice softened as if he were trying to calm me down. "Of course I'll be back. Nora, I'm going to keep my promise. Trust me. This job matters right now. Just sit tight."

He hung up.

The abrupt silence grated in the quiet office.

I looked at the mountain photo on the screen, and for once, I didn't scramble to make excuses for him.

I let go of the suitcase handle.

Something inside me had shattered for good.