Surrendered Desires

“You don’t cheat because you’re unhappy. You cheat because you were once wild… and now you’re tame.”

Seven years of marriage, and yet somehow, the silence between us tonight is louder than the jazz humming through the restaurant.

I sit across from my husband in a dress I’ve worn only once — back when I still believed wearing red meant something bold. The neckline dips low, the silk hugs my curves perfectly, but Daniel hasn’t looked at me for more than thirty seconds. He’s scrolling through his phone, fingers tapping out a reply to some hospital emergency. As usual.

His champagne glass hasn’t been touched. Mine is half-empty. Happy anniversary to me. 

I press my lips together and offer a tight smile. “Working again?”

Daniel looks up for a second, apologetic, tired. 

“Emergency consult. I promise, just one more text.”

I nod, swallowing the bitter taste at the back of my throat. “Of course. You’re saving lives.”

He smiles. I fake one back. 

It’s not that I don’t love him. I do. But something has shifted between us. Something that feels like… gravity thinning. We sleep in the same bed, but we drift closely like stars anymore. We are both visible, but out of reach. I miss the version of us that couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The version of me that didn’t have to try so hard to feel desired.

And just as I think that, my phone buzzes. Unknown number. One message.

// Still pretending to be happy, baby girl?

My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I go still. I know that name. That voice in my head. That scent buried deep in my memory. Only one person ever called me baby girl. Luca.

No. This can’t be happening. Ten years. Ten years of silence. No calls. No closure. Just a vanishing act after setting fire to every inch of my skin with a love so raw, I swore I’d never recover.

And now he’s texting me— on my wedding anniversary?

“Everything okay?” Daniel asks, finally looking up.

I blink hard and force a small chuckle. “Just spam.”

Liar.

Daniel returns to his menu. I mumble something about needing the restroom and excuse myself, clutching my phone like it might detonate. The hallway to the women’s lounge feels too long. My heels echo with every step, too loud in my ears. The moment I lock the restroom door behind me, I lean against it and breathe hard.

I pull up the message again. It’s him! There’s no doubt. My fingers tremble as another message appears.

// Happy anniversary. I still remember the scar on your hip. The one I kissed the night you told me you’d never belong to anyone. How’s that going for you, Mrs. Cole?

My vision blurs. I grip the sink for support. How does he know it’s my anniversary? Is he watching me? Is he even in the same city?

The scar! God. I forgot about that scar. He didn’t. My skin tingles in places that haven’t been touched in years. Why now? After all this time? I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow down. I should delete the messages. Block the number. I should flush the phone down the toilet if I have to.

But I don’t.

Instead, I walk out of the restroom with my mind spinning and my body humming with a sensation I haven’t felt since... since him. 

Back at the table, Daniel’s face lights up for the first time all night. “I made plans. Next weekend. The lake house.”

I blink. “The lake house?”

He nods, proud. “Just us. No work. No distractions. You deserve more of me.”

A part of me wants to lean in, to kiss him, to say thank you. To believe that maybe we can find each other again. But my phone buzzes again under the table.

// Meet me tomorrow. 3PM. Same place you last touched me. Don’t lie to yourself. You’ve already decided.

My stomach twists, because he’s right. I already have. 

There’s a shameful part of me that knows I’ll go. Not because I’m unhappy. Not entirely. But because I’m… empty. And I hate the way that feels.

Daniel reaches across the table, his fingers wrapping around mine. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”

Liar. 

******

Later that night, Daniel falls asleep before me. The room is dark, quiet. Our bedroom feels colder than usual. I lie beside him in silence, wide awake, staring at the ceiling and trying not to feel the ache between my thighs, or the war inside my chest.

At midnight, I slip out of bed. I tiptoe to the closet and kneel. Buried under old shoeboxes and folded sweaters is a velvet-lined lockbox. I haven’t opened it in years. I flick the latch and lift the lid.

There it is. The leather-bound journal. Black. Unmarked and dangerous. It holds the only real thing I ever wrote. Pages of fantasies, memories, things I couldn’t say out loud. Most of them about Luca. Some from before I met Daniel. Some from after. I run my fingers over the cover. I should burn it. But I don’t want to. 

Because the truth is, that version of me—the one who wrote about being pushed up against a slicked wall, kissed until she forgot her name—she’s not dead. She’s just been sleeping. And now she’s waking up. 

My phone buzzes again on the nightstand. I look at it. One new message. This one’s a voice note. I hesitate… then press play. Luca’s voice. Smooth. Rough. Still molten in all the wrong ways.

// “I waited ten years to say this: I never stopped wanting you, Ari. I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m here to give you back the one you buried.”

I close the journal and hold it to my chest, my body shaking.

And that’s when I hear it. The sound of breath behind me. I turn slowly. Daniel stands in the doorway. Barefoot. Eyes shadowed in the dim light. He’s staring at me. Or maybe past me. At the journal, or at the phone. And I realize something with chilling clarity. 

He heard everything.