On the morning of our five-year wedding anniversary, I watched my husband, Ethan, knot his tie in the mirror as golden sunlight bathed our bedroom. He still had that polished, put-together charm that once made my heart skip, and despite the emotional distance between us lately, I greeted him with a warm hug and a smile. “Happy anniversary, babe,” I said. “Can you believe it’s been five years?”
He gave a quick pat to my hand and replied, “Time flies when you’re building an empire.” His attention was already on his watch. When I suggested we close the office early and celebrate, he brushed it off—another “big client meeting.” It was the fourth time this week he’d said that. I forced a smile and wished him luck, even as doubt stirred in my gut.
After he left, I stood alone in our penthouse, surrounded by the markers of our shared success—sleek decor, art, a sweeping city view. Much of it came from Wildflower Boutique, the brand I had built from scratch. Ethan joined later, offering to help with business deals and marketing. Eventually, he convinced me to name him co-owner—for “credibility with investors,” he said.
While waiting for my assistant Megan—who texted to say she was running late—I decided to surprise Ethan with coffee and pastries at the office. Maybe five minutes together would rekindle something.
When I arrived, the hallways were quiet. As I neared his office, I heard laughter—familiar and far too casual. I stepped closer, heart pounding. Through a small gap in the blinds, I saw Megan, not caught in traffic as she’d claimed, but in Ethan’s office, far too close for comfort. I froze. The scene said everything. The details burned into my memory—his desk, the framed photo of us turned down, and the wedding ring still on his finger.
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