Chapter 1:The Perfect Husband

Our daughter, Lily, was fast asleep in her nursery, and I was curled up on the living room sofa, nursing a cup of chamomile tea, while watching my favourite soap opera.

My phone vibrated against the cushion, it was a livestream link from an old college friend: Grand Azure Lounge Grand Opening…Rooftop VIP Stream.

I tapped the screen absently, expecting to see a crowd of local socialites, the camera panned across the dimly lit rooftop patio, sweeping past glass tables and bottle-service sparklers, then, the lens focused on the VIP glass railing.

My tea sloshed over the rim of the mug, burning my knuckles from what I saw next, standing by the railing was a man in a bespoke suit, his hand was resting intimately on the bare waist of a woman wearing a backless crimson silk dress, i didn't need to see his full face to know the slope of those shoulders, i knew the way he leaned in when he laughed, I recognized the custom sterling silver cufflinks flashing under the patio lights..I had bought them for his thirty-fifth birthday.

It was Mark!

It was my husband.

A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit my stomach, my chest tightened so fast I gasped for air in the empty living room, Mark had kissed my forehead three hours ago, packed his overnight leather bag, and told me he was boarding a flight for a critical, three-day client meeting in Chicago. I had personally ironed that suit for him.

What is he doing? Who is that woman?

Eight years of marriage, the business we built from nothing, the house my parents left me that I mortgaged to fund his dream, all of it flashed before my eyes, suddenly tainted and fragile.

My hands shook violently, but I forced myself to breathe, i couldn't spiral, i needed to know the truth.

I swiped out of the livestream and hit his direct video call, the line rang once, twice, three times, every second stretched into an eternity of panic.

Then, the screen connected.

Mark’s face filled my phone, he wasn't on a windy rooftop anymore, he was standing in a brightly lit, generic hotel room with a heavy oak headboard behind him, he had taken off his suit jacket, his tie was loosened, and he looked exhausted but perfectly calm.

"Hey, sweetie," Mark said, his voice carrying that warm, familiar affection that always made me feel completely safe, he rubbed his eyes, smiling through his apparent fatigue. "I just got into the room, the flight was delayed on the tarmac for nearly two hours. I'm wiped out."

I stared at him, my mind spinning violently. "You're... you're in Chicago?"

"Yeah. Finally," he sighed, walking over to the room's desk and setting his phone against a lamp, behind him, I could see a room service menu and a standard ice bucket. "The wind here is brutal tonight, I was just about to order a terrible club sandwich and crash, is Lily asleep?"

"She is," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly, i searched his face for any sign of a lie, any crack in his demeanor, but there was nothing, his surroundings, his clothing, his exhausted posture everything perfectly matched his story.

"Clara? Honey, are you okay?" His brow furrowed with genuine concern. He leaned closer to the camera, his voice dropping into a gentle, soothing register. "You look pale, did something happen?"

"I just... I thought I saw someone who looked exactly like you on a local livestream few minute ago," I admitted. The heavy knot of panic in my chest was beginning to loosen, replaced by sheer confusion. "He was wearing your suit."

Mark let out a soft, genuine laugh, shaking his head. "Honey, you know half the corporate guys in this city buy off-the-rack suits but I promise you, I am freezing my way through Chicago right now."

"Can you... can you show me the window view?" I asked, hating how desperate and insecure I sounded. "I just want to see the skyline."

Mark didn't get angry, Instead, his expression melted into pure, heartbreaking pity.

"Clara, sweetie," he murmured, his eyes full of worry. "The blinds are drawn, and the glass is totally fogged over but... are you feeling alright?

You've been so anxious lately, I know giving up your career to stay home with Lily was a massive adjustment, and being isolated in the house all day makes your mind play tricks on you, do you want me to call your sister to come sit with you?"

He wasn't defensive; he was worried about my mental health, i suddenly felt completely unhinged, I was accusing the man who worked tirelessly for our family of betraying me, all over a blurry side-profile on a grainy video.

"No," I breathed out, closing my eyes as a massive wave of guilt washed over me, the anxiety drained out of my muscles, leaving me feeling foolish and exhausted. "No, I'm sorry, Mark. I'm just tired."

"Don't apologize, get some sleep, my love," he said softly, his eyes filled with devotion. "I miss you. I'll call you first thing in the morning."

I must have fallen asleep on the couch, because the next thing I knew, the heavy click of the front door deadbolt jolted me awake.

I sat up, disoriented in the dark living room, the door swung open, and Mark walked into the foyer, he was carrying his leather travel bag in one hand and a beautiful bouquet of my favorite pink peonies in the other.

"Mark?" I gasped, standing up quickly.

"Surprise," he whispered, dropping his bag and walking straight toward me, his face was soft, his eyes entirely focused on me. "I couldn't do it. I sat in that hotel room for an hour, missing you and Lily so much that it physically hurt. I called my VP, made him take the morning meetings, and hopped on the first red-eye flight back."

"You came all the way back?" I asked, my heart melting as he wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, the scent of his familiar, expensive cologne enveloped me, erasing every lingering doubt.

"I belong here with you," he murmured, kissing the top of my head, he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "You sounded so upset on the phone earlier, I didn't want you spending the whole weekend feeling anxious and alone, i know how much you sacrificed for this family, Clara. I'll never let you feel like you're doing it by yourself."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. How could I have ever doubted him?

He pulled me into a deep, passionate kiss, his touch tender and urgent, all my remaining fears dissolved completely, the man holding me was my perfect husband, the father of my child, and he had flown across the country just to comfort my irrational paranoia.

Hours later, the bedroom was quiet, Mark was fast asleep beside me, his arm draped possessively over my waist, I lay awake, smiling at the ceiling, feeling a deep, quiet gratitude for my family, sacrificing my career and handing him the company had been worth it, I had a beautiful daughter and a man who worshipped the ground I walked on.

Then, Mark’s phone vibrated silently on the mahogany nightstand.

The screen lit up in the dark room, casting a faint glow over the sheets, because of how he had set it down, the lock screen faced me perfectly.

I didn't mean to look, it was just instinct to see who was texting at three in the morning.