Chapter 1 - The Anniversary Dinner Hit the Floor
On our fifth anniversary, I carried my husband’s favorite dinner forty floors above Chicago because he told me he was trapped at the office.
I expected to surprise him.
Instead, I watched him kiss another woman against his desk.
The paper dinner bag slipped out of my hand before either of them noticed me.
It hit the marble floor with a dull thud.
Dante Moretti turned first.
His arm was still around Sofia Vale’s waist.
Her backless red satin dress caught the warm light from the office while Chicago glittered through the windows behind them.
Dante’s face emptied.
“Lena…”
Sofia pulled away so quickly she nearly struck the edge of the desk.
I looked at the man I had married five years earlier.
Black vest.
White shirt.
Tie still perfectly straight.
He had texted me forty minutes earlier:
Board issue. Don’t wait up. I’m sorry about tonight.
So I had packed dinner from Bellini’s—the tiny Italian restaurant where Dante proposed—and driven downtown anyway.
I had even asked them to add the tiramisu he loved.
Now sauce was leaking through the fallen paper bag onto his perfect floor.
Dante stepped toward me.
“Lena, wait.”
I looked at Sofia.
Then him.
“To five years together.”
My voice was calm enough to frighten even me.
“Happy anniversary, Dante.”
His face turned pale.
Sofia grabbed her handbag.
“I should go.”
Neither of us looked at her.
Dante approached slowly.
“It was a mistake.”
That sentence finally broke the shock.
Not into tears.
Into clarity.
I picked up my black handbag.
“You didn’t make a mistake.”
He froze.
“You made a choice.”
I turned toward the private elevator.
My heels clicked across the floor.
Behind me, Dante followed.
“Lena, please.”
The elevator opened.
I stepped inside.
“Don’t walk away.”
I finally looked at him.
For one second I saw the man who had danced barefoot with me in our first apartment.
The man who knew I hated thunder.
The man who held my father’s hand when he died.
Then I saw Sofia’s lipstick at the edge of his mouth.
The doors began closing.
“Lena!”
I did not stop them.
By the time Dante reached the hallway, the elevator had sealed.
I leaned against the mirrored wall.
Still no tears.
My phone vibrated before I reached the lobby.
DANTE:
Please come back. Please let me explain.
Then another.
DANTE:
It happened once.
I stared at that sentence.
Once.
At 12:17 a.m., sitting in my car beneath the office tower, I received a message from an unknown number.
It was Sofia.
I know you have no reason to believe me, but tonight was not the first time.
A second message appeared.
And if Dante tells you I meant nothing, ask him where he was planning to take me tomorrow morning.
My hand went cold.
Attached beneath the message was a screenshot of two airline tickets.
Chicago to Napa Valley.
Departure: 8:35 a.m.
Passengers:
Dante Moretti.
May you like
Sofia Vale.
The “mistake” had already packed for a weekend away.
Related Stories
