Never What It Was

I bought replacement gifts and went to my parents' house for the holiday alone. They both found it strange.

"Where's Linnea? Didn't she say she was coming today?"

"Is everything all right between you two?"

I smiled. "Sorry. Her office called her in for last-minute overtime."

They both nodded. "Work comes first."

However, I was staring at my phone, at a social media post from my wife's ex-boyfriend, Grant Tierney.

There was a caption and a carousel of photos.

The caption read, "The holiday surprise she put together for me. She really went all out."

The gourmet gift box I had spent weeks researching had been unwrapped, everything arranged and plated exquisitely. He had already gone through all of it.

In one of the photos, a pair of hands was arranging the contents. The fingers were slender and delicate, with a small scar across the right thumb.

I recognized them immediately. They belonged to my wife, Linnea Fairchild.

I also noticed that the wedding ring was gone from her left ring finger. Not a trace of it remained.

Our mutual friends had liked the post and left comments underneath.

"I keep saying you two should just get married already!"

I liked the post. Within minutes, Linnea's voice messages came through.

"Theo Aldridge, you kicked me out on a holiday. What was I supposed to do, eat on the side of the road?

"It's bad enough that you threw a fit with me, but doing it in front of Grant so everyone can laugh at us? That's humiliating."

Every sentence was an accusation.

I did not understand how liking a post qualified as throwing a fit. Beyond that, there was the name itself.

Grant. His name always came out warm, almost fond. However, when she said mine, it was flat, clipped, like she was calling a colleague.

I had brought it up once and told her that it bothered me. Linnea had waved it off without a second thought. "It's just the way I say things. Do you have to be so sensitive?"

I scrolled back through our message history.

"Is the coffee here yet? It's been over two hours. Can you check if something happened with the driver?"

"I forgot to change the address. It got delivered to Grant's place."

"Can you please just set your default address to our apartment? Can you just delete his address from your phone?"

"It's one cup of coffee. Do you have to be this hysterical about it? That's embarrassing. Just order yourself another one."

She was the one who had promised to order it for me.

I waited over two hours, and all that anticipation amounted to nothing. Furthermore, she turned it around on me.

I scrolled further back.

"Babe, it's almost midnight. Valentine's Day is practically over. Where's the surprise you said you had for me?"

"I forgot to change the shipping address. It went to Grant's. I'll make it up to you next time."

I could not pinpoint exactly when it had started, but at some point, every exchange between Linnea and me had become exactly this.

Packages would end up at the wrong address. Deliveries would go to the wrong door.

We had agreed a full year ago that she would come to my parents' house for the holiday.

She sent the gift meant for my parents to Grant's place, and then she followed it there herself and spent the holiday with him.

I stared at the photo where Linnea had removed her wedding ring.

I felt ridiculous.

Maybe all the misdelivered packages and wrong addresses had never been mistakes at all. Maybe the person she meant to send everything to had always been her ex-boyfriend.

I was the error that needed correcting.

My phone buzzed twice, and I closed Linnea's chat.

It was a message from my lawyer.

"Mr. Aldridge, happy holidays. The divorce agreement has been drafted."

After saying goodbye to my parents, I drove home and printed it out. I was about to sign when Linnea walked in and held out two bags.

"You can get those treats anywhere. I went and got your parents' clothes back.

"It was my fault. Let me take you out to Fontaine's tonight to make up for it, okay?"

I did not correct her. My parents had chronic health conditions, and that gift box was one I had carefully chosen from the only vendor that carried it. It was not something available just anywhere.

I did not remind her, either, that I did not like Fontaine's. I had already told her this many times.

She did not care, and she never would. Bringing it up again would only earn me another lecture about being difficult and dramatic.

None of it mattered anymore.