The trust in her expression.
It was the exact same care he once gave me whenever I was sick.
The same devotion.
The same softness.
The same love I thought had belonged only to me.
Then I noticed the silver watch on his wrist.
The one I had bought him for our thirtieth anniversary.
I had worked extra shifts for three months to afford it.
Engraved on the back were the words:
“Always yours, Margaret.”
My gift.
On my husband.
While he cared for another woman.
When our eyes met, all the color drained from his face.
“Margaret…” he whispered, standing so quickly the chair scraped the floor. “I… this isn’t…”
I didn’t let him finish.
I backed into the doorframe, turned, and ran.
Past the nurses’ station.
Past vending machines.
Past visitors carrying flowers.
All the way to the parking lot.
Only after locking myself inside my car did I collapse over the steering wheel and cry with my entire body.
Thirty years.
Thirty years making his favorite dinners.
Thirty years believing in his dreams.
Thirty years raising our children, Ethan and Claire.
Thirty years thinking we were partners instead of living in a marriage where one person built everything while the other perfected deception.
Eventually the tears stopped.