At first, I thought the flowers were just a sweet gesture — my husband Dan’s way of keeping romance alive after sixteen years of marriage. Every Friday, he’d walk in with a smile and a new bouquet, saying, “For my girl.” For weeks, it made me feel cherished again. But one evening, while arranging the blooms, I found a folded note tucked between the stems that read, “See you next Friday.” My heart sank, and doubt crept in where love once sat easily.
I tried to brush it off, but the small inconsistencies piled up — different stories about where he bought the flowers, a dirt-covered stem that didn’t look store-bought. Eventually, I couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore. So the next Friday, I followed him. He left work early and drove to a quiet neighborhood I hadn’t seen in years. When he pulled into a driveway I recognized, my breath caught. It was Erika’s house — the woman from his past I thought was long gone.
