My Husband Wanted Custody While Cheating With His Mistress

Three days after the reunion, I was folding laundry in the living room when the doorbell rang. I paused, my hands still clutching one of Ethan's tiny shirts. Kevin was at work, and Patricia had taken Ethan to some playdate I hadn't been invited to. The house felt too quiet, too empty.

I opened the door to find a man in a blue delivery uniform holding a paper bag and a drink tray.

'Laila Nguyen?' he asked, his voice familiar in a way I couldn't place.

'Yes?'

'I have your order.' He handed me the bag and tray. 'One boba tea, extra tapioca. And pastries from Café Lumière.'

I frowned. 'I didn't order anything.'

'Promotional delivery,' he explained with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 'Lucky customer selection. Enjoy.'

Before I could ask anything else, he was walking back to his car – a sleek black sedan that looked nothing like a typical delivery vehicle. Something about him nagged at me, but my mind was too foggy from another sleepless night to process it.

I carried the tray to the kitchen counter and opened the bag. Inside were the exact pastries I used to love before... before everything. The ones from that little bakery downtown I'd mentioned to Kevin once, years ago. A chocolate croissant, a raspberry tart, and a matcha muffin. My favorites.

The boba tea was perfect – exactly how I liked it, with the right amount of ice and sugar. I took a sip and closed my eyes, letting the sweet warmth wash over me. It was the first thing I'd truly enjoyed in months.

I should have questioned it more. Should have called the bakery to confirm the promotion. But the simple pleasure of something – anything – going right felt too precious to examine.

---

Two days later, the bell rang again. This time I was sitting in the dark, having just finished a call with Patricia where she'd berated me for not having Ethan's clothes properly organized. 'A good mother would have systems in place,' she'd said. 'Kevin deserves better than this chaos.'

I opened the door to find the same delivery driver, holding another bag and drink tray.

'Another promotion?' I asked, trying to sound light.

He nodded, his expression carefully neutral. 'Same order?'

'Yes, thank you.' I took the tray, noting again how his hands were too clean for someone who handled food deliveries all day. How his uniform fit too well. How he looked at me with a gentleness that made my chest ache.

'Enjoy your evening,' he said, and was gone before I could respond.

This time, I noticed the small card tucked into the bag: 'Hope this helps. -D'

D. Daniel. The boy from the reunion. The boy who'd punched Kevin and sat with me on that bench.

I should have been alarmed. Should have called Kevin, or Patricia, or someone. Instead, I carried the tray to the couch and ate the pastries slowly, savoring each bite. The tea was still perfect.

---

A week passed. The deliveries became a pattern – always when I needed them most. After another fight with Kevin about money. After staying up all night with Ethan's fever. After crying in the bathroom with the shower running to mask the sound.

I started watching for the black sedan. Started listening for the doorbell even when I wasn't expecting it. The anticipation of that small kindness became a lifeline I didn't know I was clinging to.

One evening, Kevin came home early. I was in the kitchen, sipping tea from the latest delivery, when his key turned in the lock.

'What's that?' he asked, nodding at the cup.

'Boba tea,' I said, my voice small. 'There was a promotion—'

'Right.' He barely looked at me, already pulling out his phone. 'I need to take this.'

He disappeared into our bedroom, closing the door. I heard his low laugh – the one he used to use with me. The one that said he was happy, really happy.

When he emerged twenty minutes later, his hair was mussed and his shirt slightly wrinkled. 'Going back out,' he said, not meeting my eyes. 'Client dinner.'

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

After he left, I found the receipt in his jacket pocket. A reservation for two at Canlis – the restaurant where he'd proposed to me three years ago. The restaurant we used to go to for special occasions.

I stood in our bedroom, staring at the receipt. The reservation was for last week – the night he'd told me he was working late. The night I'd spent alone with Ethan while Patricia attended some charity gala.

I should have confronted him. Should have thrown the receipt in his face and demanded answers. Instead, I took out my phone and photographed it. Then I put it back in his pocket, exactly as I'd found it.

In the kitchen, I opened my phone's photo gallery and created a new folder. I named it 'groceries' and saved the image inside. It was a strange, instinctive act – like gathering evidence for a case I hadn't yet decided to build.

I sat at the counter and finished my tea, wondering who 'D' really was, and why he kept bringing me these small moments of comfort. Wondering why I deserved his kindness when Kevin couldn't even be bothered to pretend to care anymore.