I remember that morning like it was yesterday.
The sun streamed through the window, warm and golden.
It was our fifth wedding anniversary.
Mark had left a single red rose on my nightstand, just like he did every year.
My heart swelled with a familiar, comforting love.
We had plans for a special dinner, a quiet evening to celebrate our journey.
He’d promised to be home early from work.
I spent the afternoon picking out my favorite dress.
I even curled my hair, something I rarely did anymore.
Excitement bubbled in my chest.
I baked a small cake, just for us, our favorite chocolate lava.
The house smelled sweet and hopeful.
As evening approached, I started to wonder where he was.
He usually texted if he was running late.
No message came.
I tried calling his phone.
It went straight to voicemail.
A knot began to form in my stomach.
Maybe he was stuck in traffic.
Maybe his phone died.
I tried to push away the rising anxiety.
An hour passed.
Then another.
The chocolate lava cake sat cooling on the counter, untouched.
My carefully curled hair started to fall limp.
I tried calling Sarah, my best friend.
She was practically family, my ride-or-die since college.
She usually knew where Mark was if I couldn’t reach him.
Her phone also went straight to voicemail.
That was unusual.
Sarah always answered or texted right back.
A cold dread started to seep into my bones.
It wasn't like either of them to be unreachable.
A dark thought, insidious and unwelcome, slithered into my mind.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss it.
No, not them.
Never them.
I decided to take a hot bath to calm my frayed nerves.
As I walked towards the bathroom, I noticed something odd.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar.
I distinctly remembered closing it when I left that morning.
A faint sound, a muffled giggle, drifted from inside.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
It couldn't be Mark, he wasn't home yet.
Or was he?
Perhaps he’d surprised me by coming back early.
But the giggle… it wasn't his.
It was too light, too feminine.
My breath hitched in my throat.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
I slowly, cautiously, pushed the door open a little further.
The scene that unfolded before me froze me to my core.
Mark was there.
And so was Sarah.
They were in our bed.
My bed.
On our anniversary.
The red rose he’d left me that morning lay crushed on the bedside table.
