Too Late, Mr. Hale

Callie's POV 

Five years ago today, I married Mason Hale in a small white church with my hands shaking so hard I almost dropped the ring. Tonight I wanted him to remember that girl. I wanted him to remember how much she loved him, because she still did.

I started cooking at noon. I made his favorite things, the ones his mother never thought I could get right. Beef Wellington, roasted potatoes with garlic and butter, and the lemon tart he used to eat straight from the pan when we were first married and too poor to own nice plates. I set the table with the good china we got as a wedding gift and had never used. I lit two tall candles and put a small box next to his glass. Inside was a watch with the date of our wedding engraved on the back.

At six, I put on the blue dress he once said he liked. At seven, I checked my phone. There were no messages.

At eight, I sent him a text. "Dinner is ready. Are you on your way?"

He didn't answer.

At nine, I called. It rang five times and went to voicemail. I told myself he was in a meeting because Mason was always in a meeting. Hale Ventures was his whole life, and I had learned a long time ago that I came second. I just hoped that tonight, for one night, I could come first.

The candles burned down to half. The potatoes went cold. I sat at the end of the long table and listened to the clock in the hallway, and every time a car drove past, I sat up straight and looked at the door.

At a quarter to ten, the doorbell rang.

I almost ran. I fixed my hair in the mirror by the door, pulled in a breath, and opened it with a smile already on my face.

It wasn't Mason.

A young woman stood on my porch. She was pretty, with long dark hair and a soft pink coat, and she was holding a white envelope with a red ribbon tied around it. She looked at my dress, then past me at the candles on the table, and she smiled like she knew a joke I didn't.

"You must be Callie," she said.

"I am," I said slowly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"My name is Kendra. Kendra Lowe." She held out the envelope with both hands, like it was a present. "Happy anniversary. I brought you a gift."

I didn't take it at first. Something about her voice made my skin go cold. "I don't think we've met," I said. "Do you work with my husband?"

Kendra laughed softly. "You could say that. Please, just open it. I came all this way."

I took the envelope because I didn't know what else to do. I pulled the ribbon loose and opened the flap. Inside was a small black and white photo, the kind they give you at a doctor's office. In the middle of all the gray was a tiny shape, curled up like a bean.

At the top, printed in white letters, was a name. Kendra Lowe. Eleven weeks.

I stared at it. I read the name three times. Then I looked up at her.

"Why would you give me this?" I asked.

"Because it's Mason's," Kendra said. She put one hand on her flat stomach and tilted her head. "I thought you should hear it from me. He's been trying to find the right time to tell you, but Mason is so soft with people. He hates hurting anyone. So I decided to help him."

For a second I couldn't breathe. Then I laughed, because it was the only thing that made sense. "This is a joke," I said. "Did someone pay you to do this? Is this one of his business rivals trying to upset him?"

"It's not a joke, Callie."

"My husband would never do this to me," I said. My voice was shaking now, and I hated it. "You don't know him. He works until midnight every night. He doesn't have time for anyone, not even me."

Kendra's smile grew wider. "Where do you think he is right now?"

I didn't answer her. I couldn't.

"He's at the Grand Marlowe Hotel," she said. "Room 1408. He gets a suite there every Thursday. He told me to meet him there tonight after I came here." She stepped closer and lowered her voice like she was being kind. "If you don't believe me, come with me. We'll go together. You can ask him yourself."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said.

"Then sit here and wait," Kendra said, and she looked past me again at the table. "Wait with your cold dinner, like you've been waiting for five years. He won't come home tonight, Callie. He never planned to."

I wanted to slam the door in her face. I wanted to call Mason and hear him laugh and tell me she was crazy. Instead, I looked at the photo in my hand. Eleven weeks. Eleven weeks ago, Mason had gone on a business trip and come back smelling like a perfume I didn't wear. I had told myself it was nothing. I had told myself a lot of things.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

Kendra's car was parked at the end of our drive, a white sports car with the engine still running. She got in behind the wheel. I sat in the passenger seat, still in my blue dress, still holding the photo so tight that the corner bent.

She drove fast. The rain had started while we were inside, and the roads were black and wet under the street lights. Kendra hummed along to the radio like this was a fun night out with a friend.

I looked out the window and thought about our wedding day. Mason had cried when I walked down the aisle. His best friend Theo had handed him a tissue and laughed at him. I held on to that memory now like it could save me, because if that man had cried for me once, maybe he couldn't do this. Maybe she was lying.

"You know, he never talks about you," she said. "Not once. When I asked him if he loved you, he said you were easy. That's the word he used. Easy. You cook, you clean, and you wait. You never ask for anything."

"Stop talking," I said.

"I'm just being honest with you."

"I said, 'Stop talking!'"

She turned to look at me and smiled. She didn't look at the road. She didn't see the red light, and she didn't see the truck.

I did. I screamed her name, and then the whole world turned white.