My Husband's "Assistant"

"I was just thinking about how fast time's flown," I said. "All these years together... kinda hit me outta nowhere."

Matthew smiled, tapped my nose. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. We've got decades ahead of us."

Decades?

The word echoed in my head like a joke with a mean punchline.

Once trust is gone, all that's left is paranoia and pain. A lifetime of that? No thanks.

I forced a smile. "Alright. Decades it is. Let's light the candles."

As soon as I put the lighter down, the glow outside the window blinked out.

Suddenly, the candles were the only thing keeping the room from drowning in dark.

I checked my phone—12:30.

Matthew stood, walked to the big window. "Everything's out. Must be a blackout."

Then I remembered. "Oh—right. The building manager sent an email. Power was supposed to cut after midnight for maintenance."

He came back, still calm, still playing the part. "Kinda romantic, actually. Whole neighborhood's going dark just for your birthday. Make a wish."

I shut my eyes.

Right before everything went black, his phone lit up on the table.

And just like that, the pain came crashing back, sharp and ugly.

Eyes still closed, I peeked. Barely.

Matthew was unlocking his phone, frowning at a message. His face said everything.

It was her. I didn't even need to look.

My chest clenched. I closed my eyes again, but my head was spinning.

What do you wish for when the thing you want is already slipping through your fingers?

I wished I wouldn't die.

I wished I'd get pregnant.

I wished he'd cut her off.

Would any of it come true? Doubt it. My birthday was already over.

Then a ringtone cut through the silence.

I flinched, eyes flying open.

Matthew looked like he'd just been caught cheating on a test—fumbling to hang up before I could see.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why aren't you answering?"

He panicked. Obviously. It wasn't just some random ringtone—it was a custom one. Soft, girly, humming some love song like a lullaby.

Hers?

Before I could ask, the call ended. Then it rang again.

Matthew scrambled to stand up, but in the rush, he knocked over the whole cake—candles, frosting, everything—right onto my favorite dress.

Huge. Mango-colored. Stain.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Don't move, I'll clean it up."

He grabbed the mess, dumped his phone on the table.

But I knew better. This wasn't love. This was panic dressed up as guilt.

As soon as he left the room, I picked up his phone.

The message was still up.

[Matt, the power's out. I think someone knocked on my door. I'm scared. Can you come check?]

Vivian. Of course.

I put the phone back just as he walked in, cloth in hand. His eyes darted to the screen.

Nothing changed. He relaxed.

Cold crept up my spine.

I looked him dead in the eye. "What's wrong? You seem... distracted. Got somewhere to be?"

For a second, I thought he'd flinch. Thought maybe he'd feel something.

But he just stared at me, then sighed like it physically hurt him.

"Baby, something urgent came up at work. I might need to head out."