For sixteen years, I thought I knew every corner of my husband’s heart — the routines, the habits, the small gestures that made us us. So when Dan suddenly started coming home every Friday with a fresh bouquet, I thought maybe he was trying to rekindle what time had quietly dulled. Pink tulips, white lilies, daisies — each one came with a smile and a kiss on the forehead, as if we were newly in love again. But then, one Friday, a folded note slipped out from between the stems. Four simple words — “See you next Friday.” That moment turned my world upside down. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And by the next week, I was sitting in my car outside his office, ready to find out what he was hiding.

That Friday afternoon, I watched Dan leave work early — no flowers in hand, no explanation. My heart thudded painfully as I followed his car through streets that led far from our usual paths. When he turned into a quiet neighborhood I recognized instantly, my stomach dropped. It was her street — Erika’s. The same woman who once confessed her love for my husband at our wedding before vanishing from our lives years ago. My pulse raced as I saw Dan walk up her driveway and disappear inside. I didn’t think. I just got out of the car, tears and fury blurring my vision, and rang the doorbell.....