My Husband's Master Wasn't Me

"You wore the navy dress," Daniel said, rising from his seat.

"You bought it for me three years ago," I said, sliding into the curved leather booth of Le Petit.

"I did. And I told you it was the best thing in your closet."

"You did say that."

He reached across the white tablecloth. He grabbed my right hand and squeezed my fingers.

"Happy anniversary, Vera."

"Seven years," I replied.

"It feels like we just got married yesterday."

I stared at his thumb rubbing against my knuckles. Six days. The flight itinerary burned in my memory. Flight 892 left in exactly six days.

"I took the liberty of ordering the drinks," Daniel announced.

A server stepped up to the table. He uncorked a dark green bottle and poured a heavy measure of dark red liquid into my glass.

"A 2018 Cabernet," Daniel told the server with an approving nod. He shifted his gaze to me. "Your absolute favorite."

I picked up the stemware. I swirled the wine once. The heavy, fermented scent hit my nose.

I set the glass back onto the linen.

"Thank you," I said.

"I remembered you talking about this vineyard," he added. He lifted his own glass.

"You have a great memory, Daniel."

I didn't correct him. Five times in the last three years, I had explicitly asked for white wine instead.

"Cheers to us," he said, clinking his rim against my untouched glass.

"To us."

I pulled my hand back and rested it in my lap.

"I didn't want to wait until dessert," Daniel said.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

A square velvet box landed next to my wine glass.

"You didn't have to get me anything," I told him.

"Open it."

I popped the lid. A silver pendant rested on a black foam insert.

"It's beautiful," I murmured.

"I had it custom designed," he said, leaning over the table. "A jeweler in the diamond district spent two months on the setting. I wanted something completely unique for you."

"Two months?"

"I've been planning this anniversary for a while."

I pinched the delicate chain. I lifted the pendant into the dim restaurant lighting. As the metal spun, the backside flipped toward me.

A tiny, circular white sticker clung to the silver. *QC Passed.*

A sharp bark of laughter escaped my throat.

Daniel blinked. His confident smile cracked. "What is it?"

"Just overwhelmed," I said.

I dropped the jewelry back into the foam slot. I snapped the lid shut.

"Aren't you going to put it on?" he asked.

"Not right now." I slid the box into my handbag. "I don't want to risk losing something so rare."

"I can clasp it for you right now."

"I'm fine, Daniel. Let's just order the food."

He picked up his menu, his eyes darting over the top edge to study my face. I gave him a flat, practiced smile and opened my own menu.

"Excuse me for a moment," I said, standing up from the booth.

"Sure," he said, already signaling the waiter.

I navigated the crowded dining room and pushed through the heavy wooden door of the women's restroom.

The marble counters were completely empty. I pulled my phone from my clutch.

One new message sat on the lock screen.

*Sandra Okafor: The dissolution petition is finalized. Come by the office tomorrow morning to sign. We file Wednesday.*

I typed back immediately.

*Vera: I will be there.*

I locked the screen. The display went black.

I checked my reflection in the vanity mirror. My makeup remained perfectly intact.

I unspooled a tube of crimson lipstick. I dragged the color across my bottom lip. I pressed my lips together and capped the tube.

"Normal," I whispered to the glass.

I walked back out to the dining room.

"Ready to go?" Daniel asked. The waiter dropped a black leather folio onto the table.

"Whenever you are."

He pulled his credit card out and slapped it onto the tray.

At that exact second, his phone buzzed beside his water glass.

The screen lit up.

Daniel snatched the device. He twisted his torso violently, angling the screen away from my side of the table. His thumb swiped the glass in a frantic motion.

"Work emergency?" I asked.

"Just spam," he muttered. He shoved the phone into his pocket.

He wasn't fast enough. The angle of his shoulder hadn't blocked my line of sight completely.

*Riley Thorne.*

The name from the airplane ticket previewed clearly across his screen before he deleted it.

We walked out the front doors. The cool night air hit my face.

Gravel crunched beneath our shoes as we crossed the dimly lit parking lot.

Daniel hit the unlock button on his key fob. The headlights of his sedan flashed twice.

He walked straight to the driver's side and pulled the handle.

I stopped at the passenger door.

I didn't reach for the handle. I just stood there, staring at him over the roof of the car.

"Get in," he said, tossing his keys onto the dashboard.

"Did you pack for your trip yet?" I asked.

He paused, one foot inside the vehicle. "What?"

"Chicago," I reminded him. "Your marketing seminar. You fly out in six days."

"I'll pack Tuesday night," he said. His brow furrowed. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

My fingers brushed against the outside of my handbag. The cheap velvet box sat right next to my divorce attorney's retainer agreement. I wasn't wearing his fake necklace.

"Vera?" he prompted. "Are you getting in?"

"Just wondering," I said.

I kept my hand off the door handle. I let the silence stretch across the cold roof of the car, wondering how long it would take for him to realize I was never getting back in.