Reborn After Husband's Lies

I couldn't sleep that night. Ryder's words kept echoing in my mind: "Maybe when you decide to trust me again, I'll come back." The irony wasn't lost on me. Trust had always been my strong suit—perhaps too strong.

By morning, I'd made up my mind. I needed answers.

I found the number for the Westwood Flower Exhibition online and dialed, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"Westwood Botanical Gardens, how may I help you?" A cheerful voice answered.

"Yes, hello," I began, trying to sound casual. "I'm calling about the flower exhibition you hosted last week. My husband attended, and I wanted to know more about the event."

"Oh, the Spring Bloom Showcase! It was absolutely magnificent," the woman gushed. "Four hours of the most exquisite floral displays you've ever seen. We had couples coming in all day long."

"Four hours?" I repeated, my stomach tightening.

"Yes, from noon to four. We had wine tastings paired with each section—roses with cabernet, lilies with chardonnay, and so on. It was quite romantic, actually. Many of our guests stayed the entire time, taking in the sights and scents."

I thanked her and hung up, my hands trembling. Four hours surrounded by flowers—flowers that supposedly triggered severe allergic reactions in my husband. Flowers that should have sent him into sneezing fits and potential anaphylaxis.

Yet he'd come home with barely a sniffle.

My suspicions hardened into something more concrete. Ryder hadn't just lied about where he'd been. He'd lied about his allergies.

---

Three days later, my phone chimed with a notification. I was folding laundry when I picked it up, expecting a text from my mother.

Instead, I found myself staring at a message from a number I didn't recognize.

"God, that was amazing. I still can't believe how many roses they had there. And you didn't sneeze once! 🌹"

Attached was a photo of a woman in a red dress, posed among an elaborate rose arrangement. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she was smiling seductively at the camera.

I scrolled down to see more messages:

"I love that you don't mind my favorite rose perfume. It makes me feel so sexy knowing you can't resist it."

Another photo showed the same woman with her dress slightly unbuttoned, clearly taken in a hotel room.

"The afternoon was perfect. Can't wait until next time when we don't have to rush."

My hands shook as I realized who the sender was. Skyler Jones. Ryder's personal secretary.

And she'd meant to send these to him.

I checked the timestamp. The same day as the flower exhibition.

My vision blurred as I stared at the evidence of my husband's betrayal. Not only was he seeing another woman, but he was doing so in environments filled with the very things he claimed would kill him.

I heard the front door open. Ryder was home early.

"Ashley?" he called out. "You won't believe the day I've had."

I sat frozen on the edge of our bed, phone in hand, as his footsteps approached our bedroom.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing my expression as he entered.

Without a word, I turned the phone toward him and watched his face transform from confusion to shock to anger.

"Where did you get these?" he demanded, snatching the phone from my hand.

"They were sent to me by mistake," I said quietly. "Skyler must have meant to send them to you."

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed, but his eyes couldn't meet mine. "She must be delusional or something. These are obviously fake."

"The timestamps match the flower exhibition," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "The one you told me was just a brief business meeting."

His expression hardened. "You're being paranoid, Ashley. This is exactly why I didn't tell you about the exhibition. I knew you'd overreact."

"Overreact?" I stood up, anger finally breaking through my shock. "You spent four hours surrounded by flowers that supposedly could kill you. You're wearing perfume from another woman. And you're telling me I'm overreacting?"

"You're losing your mind," he snapped, his voice rising. "These messages are clearly fabricated. Skyler would never send anything like this."

"And why would she lie about being with you?"

"Because she's obsessed with me!" he shouted. "Can't you see what's happening here? She's trying to destroy our marriage!"

As he paced the room, pointing an accusing finger at me, I realized with perfect clarity that the man I'd married—the man I'd sacrificed everything for—was a stranger to me. And perhaps he always had been.