Regret Comes Late

As I watched Alexa bustling around the kitchen, a twinge of guilt tugged at me. I leaned against the doorframe and said, "You don't have to work so hard, you know."

She glanced at me with a playful smile and tapped my nose with her flour-dusted fingers. "Cooking for my darling? That's not work—it's love."

Her words, so effortlessly sweet, brought a lump to my throat. Alexa had built her world around me—or so it seemed. Every little thing she did was deliberate, thoughtful. Because I once mentioned liking braised prawns, she made it a ritual to wake up early every weekend and visit the market for the freshest catch. The aroma of her cooking would awaken me, a comforting embrace that signaled the start of a perfect day.

But now, those gestures felt... suffocating. How could someone so attentive, so devoted, betray me?

The dining table was laden with an impressive spread: braised prawns, steamed fish, sautéed vegetables and a bowl of soup that was still gently steaming. As I sat down, Alexa didn't wait for me to start. She expertly peeled a prawn with her delicate fingers, placing the tender morsel on my plate. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she looked at me.

"Harry," she began, her tone light but hopeful, "the publisher scheduled a book signing for Confessions of Love next week. Will you come with me?"

Confessions of Love—the book she'd poured her soul into, chronicling our ten-year journey together. It wasn't just a bestseller; it was a symbol of our love story, immortalized in ink. Alexa usually insisted I attend every signing event, but this time, the thought of smiling and pretending everything was perfect felt unbearable.

I forced myself to take a bite of the food, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. Without looking at her, I muttered, "I've been really tired lately. I think I'll skip it."

The silence that followed was heavy. Then, Alexa's voice broke through, as gentle as ever. "Alright. Then I won't go either. I'll stay home and rest with you."

That caught me off guard. I looked up at her and for a moment, her unwavering love and devotion felt real again. Over the years, Alexa had always been fiercely protective of our time together. She avoided going out alone and when she had to, she tried to bring me along. If I couldn't accompany her, she'd cancel whatever plans she could.

People often teased her about it. "He's just your husband—what's the big deal?" they'd say. Or, "Harry's nothing special. Why are you so obsessed?"

Her response was always the same: "Harry is my everything."

That memory made me hesitate. "Since you've already promised the publisher, it wouldn't look good to back out," I said, my voice softer now.

But Alexa reached across the table, taking my hand in hers. Her eyes shimmered with sincerity. "Harry, nothing is more important than you."

In the end, I reluctantly agreed to go.

***

After dinner, while Alexa was tidying up the dishes, I found my thoughts drifting back to the photo. An uneasy itch grew in the back of my mind. I slipped away to the study, quietly opening the drawer where Alexa had placed the book earlier. My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages.

The photo was gone.

Before I could process the implications, I heard a phone ringing downstairs. I crept to the landing, peering down as Alexa answered. Her voice was hushed, her tone sharp.

"I told you not to contact me on weekends. I'm spending time with my husband."

A moment later, her demeanor shifted. Her eyes darted to the stairs and after confirming I wasn't around, she quickly dried her hands, grabbed her coat and threw it over her shoulders.

"Harry," she called out, her voice brisk but warm, "something urgent came up at the university. I need to head back for a bit. Don't touch the dishes; I'll clean them when I get back."

She was already halfway out the door before I could respond.

Alexa rarely worked overtime. She was efficient and meticulous, managing her time so she almost never had to be called in on weekends. As her hurried footsteps disappeared, an unsettling weight pressed on my chest.

I grabbed my coat and followed. While Alexa headed for the garage, I hailed a cab and parked discreetly at the curb.

"Please follow that car," I instructed the driver, my voice low.

The driver gave me a knowing look and nodded. "Don't worry, mister. I won't lose it."

Alexa's car weaved through the city streets before turning into the familiar grounds of Carbel University. I watched from a distance as she parked and walked briskly toward the teaching building.

Her pace slowed as she reached a secluded area just outside the building. I squinted, trying to make out what she was doing.

Then, a figure emerged from the shadows. A man.

My breath caught as I watched him stride confidently toward her. He stopped just inches away, his grin sly. "Mrs. Colby," he said, his voice carrying an unmistakable intimacy. "Why are you so late? I've been dying to see you."

Alexa didn't pull away. She let him slide an arm around her waist, though her expression was cautious. Her eyes darted around, scanning the area for anyone who might be watching. When she seemed satisfied, they were alone, she reached for his hand and clasped it tightly.