Our tenth anniversary was supposed to be a celebration. Instead, it opened my eyes to a truth I had been avoiding. What I discovered that night changed the course of my marriage and forced me to choose between quiet heartbreak and bold honesty.
I’ve never really believed in perfect lives.
I’m an event planner who has seen too many forced smiles and champagne toasts over shallow love to know better. But Daniel and I? I thought we were solid.
Not dreamy or dramatic, just real.
I’m Elise, 35, and meticulous by nature. I mean, you sort of have to be that way if you are in my line of work, but I am calm under pressure. I’ve always been the type to hold things together, even when they feel like they’re falling apart.
My husband, Daniel, is 38 and works as a senior vice president at a real estate firm.
We’d been together for 12 years and married for ten. We had built a happy life brick by brick: a modest three-bedroom home in the suburbs, matching mugs from Prague, and a dog named Maple we rescued during lockdown.
We had arguments, sure — over dinner plans, vacation destinations, and that time he forgot our anniversary in year three. But I believed in us.
He was ambitious, charming when he wanted to be, and despite the late nights and stress from work, he always found his way back to me, or so I thought.
This year, I wanted to do something special. No grand gesture, just something thoughtful. A quiet, elegant dinner with candles, wine, and a gourmet meal from our favorite bistro, delivered straight to his office.
I even picked up a linen table runner he once said reminded him of our honeymoon in Florence.
So I showed up a little after 6 p.m., smiling at the young receptionist who barely looked up from her phone. I’d been there before, for charity events and company dinners, so no one questioned me.
The hallway was empty. I remember the way my heels echoed softly on the polished floor as I walked toward his office.
I pushed the frosted glass door open gently, expecting to see him at his desk.
What I saw instead was his hand on the back of Harper’s neck, pulling her into a kiss like he didn’t have a whole life with someone else. Harper is 29, works in marketing at Daniel’s firm, and she knows exactly how attractive she is.
She is stylish, quick-witted, and clearly comfortable crossing lines. Her laugh was soft, almost smug.
His jacket was slung over the chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Their faces were too close, too familiar.
They didn’t see me.
I didn’t say a word. I
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