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“What kind?”
“The boring kind. The kind that makes less than you do,” he said, glancing toward my house. “Clearly.”
I turned to him. “I don’t care about that.”
And I meant it. I assumed he was embarrassed or trying to preempt judgment.
His expression softened. “I know.”
He kissed my forehead, and I let it go.
I let a lot of things go—vague answers about past relationships, his lack of family, his childhood.
After four months, he proposed over dinner at a restaurant. I looked at him—the man who had gently stepped into the life I had rebuilt from grief and routine—and I said yes.
For the first time in years, I believed I could have everything.
My job. My daughter. A good man. A second chance that didn’t feel like a betrayal of the life I had lost.
The engagement party was small. A few friends, some family, and food spread across every surface in the house.
I was in the kitchen cutting fruit when Diana ran in, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
“Mom!”
I smiled. “Hey, what is it?”
Her face was serious in that way only children can manage. “Mom, Jack said his plan will work soon. He just needs to wait for the wedding. Mom, what will happen at your wedding?”
The knife paused in my hand. “Honey, where did you hear that?”
She squeezed her rabbit tighter. “I went in to get Bunbun, and Jack was in the other room talking on the phone.”
The room felt suddenly still. “What else did he say?”
She frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. He sounded mad.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
She looked relieved. “Can I have strawberries now?”
“Yes, baby.”
She grabbed one and ran off.
I told myself she must have misunderstood. “The plan” could mean anything—a surprise, work, something harmless.
But the words stuck.
It was probably nothing. But if it wasn’t, I needed to know.
For the next few days, I said nothing. I acted normal, waiting for the right moment to uncover the truth.
When it came, I didn’t hesitate.
One morning, Jack got up earlier than usual and said he had to go into the office.
“Big meeting,” he said.
His job was mostly remote. He rarely went in. Maybe it was my suspicion, but the moment he said it, I knew he was lying.
I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I think I have a migraine. I might call in sick.”
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Go lie down. Feel better.”
I waited thirty seconds after he drove away.
Then I followed him.
He didn’t go to an office. Instead, he parked at a café on the edge of town. I watched through the window as he sat with a woman.
I leaned forward, trying to see her face.