Chapter 2

The next morning, my husband kissed my forehead. He asked how I wanted to celebrate our twentieth anniversary.

I smelled the coffee brewing in the kitchen. Mark was standing by the counter.

He smiled at me. His eyes were clear.

He didn't look like a man who just bet his marriage for a hundred dollars.

"Morning, babe," he said. "What are we doing for our big two-zero next Friday?"

I looked at his familiar face. I waited for a sign of guilt. There was none.

"I booked that French restaurant," I kept my voice perfectly calm. "The one by the river. It took two months to get a table."

"Perfect," he said. He took a sip of his coffee.

Then, his phone buzzed on the counter.

The screen lit up. It was a message from his friends' group chat: "Friday Poker Club".

Mark turned his back to get milk from the fridge. I quickly glanced at his phone screen.

A text from Dean popped up: So, how are you pulling this off?

Another text popped up. This one was from Mark, sent a minute ago: I'm telling Claire I have to work late. Then I'm taking Nat to the French restaurant Claire booked.

Dean replied: Savage. You're stealing your own wife's anniversary reservation?

Mark replied: Yeah. I'll take a selfie at our table to prove it. I'll ignore Claire's calls all night. She'll just cry at home.

My blood ran cold.

He wasn't backing out. He was actively planning to humiliate me. He wanted to steal the romantic dinner I planned, give it to another woman, and use it as a trophy.

As soon as he closed the fridge door, I looked away.

When Mark went to the bathroom, I pulled out my own phone.

I opened our home security app. I downloaded the basement video from last night. I saved the audio of him calling me too old to leave.

Then, I quickly took photos of his group chat messages.

I uploaded copies from my phone into a private, password-protected cloud folder.

Then, I created a new email draft. I attached all the files, ready to send with one single click. Evidence secured.

Mark walked back into the kitchen. He rubbed his neck. He suddenly put on his best stressed face.

"Babe, bad news," he sighed. "The regional manager is flying in next Friday. I have to work late."

He looked at me apologetically. "I'm so sorry. We have to cancel the French restaurant."

He thought I would just cancel the table. He thought he could just walk in with Natalie.

He didn't know I was going to call the restaurant today. I wasn't going to cancel. I was going to upgrade our table to the largest private room and invite our entire family.

I set my coffee mug down.

"Are you sure?" I asked softly. "Are you sure you want to miss our twentieth anniversary?"

Mark sighed, looking annoyed that I was pushing it.

"Come on, Claire. Don't make a big deal out of this," he said. "We've been married for twenty years. You won't ruin a marriage over a single meal."

I looked at the man I spent two decades loving. I felt absolutely nothing.

I gave him a gentle smile.

"No, Mark," I said. "A single meal never ruins a marriage."