Ten years. A decade of marriage, and I'm celebrating our anniversary alone in a hotel bathroom, staring at my husband's phone. The notification lit up while Jayson was in the shower. I wasn't snooping—not really. It was right there on the screen, impossible to miss. *Aspen: I can't wait anymore. When are you telling her?* My hands shake as I unlock his phone. He never changed the passcode. Why would he? I'm his wife. I'm supposed to trust him. The messages load, and my entire world tilts sideways. *Jayson: Soon, baby. I promise. Just need to find the right time.* *Aspen: You've been saying that for months. I'm tired of being your secret.* *Jayson: I know. You deserve better. You deserve everything.* I scroll up. And up. And up. Six months of messages. Six months of "I love yous" and "I can't stop thinking about yous" and photos I can't unsee. Her in lingerie I could never afford. Him shirtless in what looks like a hotel room—maybe even this hotel, on one of his "business trips." My stomach lurches. I barely make it to the toilet before I'm sick. "Maggie? You okay in there?" Jayson's voice comes through the door, concerned. Loving, even. I want to laugh. Or scream. Maybe both. "Fine," I manage. "Just... something I ate." "I ordered room service. Champagne and strawberries, like our first anniversary. Remember?" I remember. I remember everything. Every anniversary, every promise, every time he said he loved me while apparently texting someone else. I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth, studying my reflection. Thirty-two years old. Tired eyes with crow's feet starting to show. Hair that needs touching up at the roots. When did I start looking so... worn? When I emerge, Jayson is sitting on the bed in the hotel robe, looking at his laptop. He glances up and smiles—that same smile that made me fall in love with him in college. "There's my beautiful wife," he says. The word feels like a slap. Wife. What does that even mean to him anymore? "Your phone was buzzing," I say, holding it out. My voice sounds remarkably steady. "Thought it might be important." Something flickers across his face—too quick to read—before he takes it. "Thanks, babe. Probably just work stuff." Work stuff. Right. Because Aspen works with him. I know that much. She's twenty-four, fresh out of grad school, working as a junior analyst at his firm. I met her once at the company holiday party. She complimented my dress. I told her where I bought it. Did they laugh about that later? Did he tell her how his frumpy wife shops at outlet malls while she probably wears designer everything? "Maggie?" Jayson is watching me now, concern creasing his forehead. "You sure you're okay? You look pale." "I'm fine." I sit on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible without being obvious. "Just thinking." "About what?" *About how I wasted ten years on a lie.* "About us," I say instead. "About... where we are." He reaches for my hand. I let him take it, even though his touch makes my skin crawl now. "We're exactly where we should be," he says. "Ten years strong. Still going." "Are we?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "What do you mean?" I could ask him right now. Confront him with the messages, demand the truth, force everything into the open. But something stops me. Maybe it's cowardice. Maybe it's the tiny, desperate part of me that wants to unhear, unsee, unknow everything I just learned. Or maybe it's strategy. If I play this wrong, I'll be the hysterical wife. I'll be the problem. He'll twist it somehow, make it my fault that he needed someone else. "I mean..." I choose my words carefully. "Do you still love me? Really love me?" His answer comes too quickly. "Of course I do. Maggie, you're my wife. You're my person." *You deserve everything,* he told Aspen. What do I deserve? Apparently not the truth. "I want to have a baby," I say suddenly. We've been trying for two years. Not trying, exactly—I've been trying. He's been "too stressed" or "not ready yet" or "let's wait until the promotion goes through." The promotion went through eight months ago. Jayson's smile falters. "We've talked about this. The timing—" "Will never be perfect. I know. You've said." I pull my hand away. "But I'm thirty-two, Jayson. We can't wait forever." "I'm not saying forever. Just... not right now. There's a lot going on at work, and—" "There's always a lot going on at work." His jaw tightens. "Why are we fighting on our anniversary?" "Are we fighting? I thought we were talking about our future." "Our future is fine, Maggie. Everything is fine. You're just—" He stops himself. "I'm just what?" "Nothing. Forget it." He stands, grabbing his phone. "I need to make a quick call. Work emergency." Of course. Work emergency. Code for Aspen, probably, warning her that his wife is acting suspicious. He steps onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. Through the glass, I watch him pace, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesturing animatedly. I pick up his laptop. Still unlocked. His email is open. I shouldn't look. I absolutely should not look. I look. The first email in his sent folder is from three days ago. Subject line: "Can't wait for our future." I click it. *Aspen,* *I meant what I said last night. You're everything I never knew I needed. When I'm with you, I feel alive again. Maggie and I... we've grown apart. We're just going through the motions. It's not fair to any of us.* *I'll tell her soon. I promise. And then we can start our life together—the life we both want.* *All my love,* *J* The balcony door opens.