“Finally,” she murmured. “I thought you were going to come up with another ‘my son has a fever’ excuse.”
They kissed.
I fought the nausea rising in my throat.
“So,” she said, “my parents want to meet you.”
Jason looked at her, confused.
“They said they’d gift me a house if they see I’m with someone serious. A fiancé.”
He let out a short laugh.
“They’re really conservative.
We won’t tell them about your wife — I mean, you’re divorcing her soon anyway, right?”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“You’re my favorite. My clever, clever girl.
I love that about you.”
Her voice turned silky.
Jason chuckled, low and pleased.
“Exactly.
As soon as my wife gets the inheritance, I’m out. No reason to leave empty-handed. Her mother’s really sick, so…
it’ll happen soon.”
I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white.
“All right,” she said brightly. “So I’ll organize a little get-together this weekend. A backyard barbecue.
Just show up, smile, say a few sweet words — and we’re in.”
I nearly choked. Saturday. That was our anniversary.
My husband had just committed to meeting another woman’s parents — for a fake engagement — on the exact day we met 9 years ago.
And he didn’t even remember.
I drove them to a small house with a porch.
Not ours. His “business trips” always ended there. Jason got out without recognizing me.
Paid in cash. Never looked up.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, already reaching for Ashley’s waist.
I stayed behind the wheel. Watched them disappear behind the door.
And then I sat in silence until my breathing calmed.
Then I quietly said to no one:
