Chapter 1
Everyone from my class went to the reunion, but no one even bothered to tell me about it.
I found it strange and asked around secretly, but everyone played dumb about who organized it.
Then I saw a message on my wife's phone: [Don't worry, he won't find out. Everything is ready.]
I didn't confront her. I borrowed a waiter's uniform and blended in.
As I carried a tray of wine to the head table, I saw a man get down on one knee and pull out a diamond ring.
And my wife, covering her mouth with tears in her eyes, nodded.
The room erupted in applause. I set down my tray and clapped along, laughing louder than anyone else.
My wife looked up at the sound. The moment our eyes met, her face turned as white as a sheet.
I raised my glass of wine. "Congratulations. But didn't you forget to divorce your current husband first?"
******
It was a class reunion.
Our class WhatsApp group had fifty-six people.
Everyone went except me.
I only found out about the whole thing from Instagram.
A dozen photos were laid out in a classic Instagram grid.
They were posted by my wife, Daisy Morales.
She was wearing a champagne-colored dress I had never seen before, standing at the center of the crowd.
She wore a radiant smile.
The caption read: [Back to eighteen, youth forever. Love you guys!]
There were tons of likes and comments below.
I gripped my phone, feeling something was off.
Why didn't anyone tell me about such a big event?
I checked the class group chat. It was dead silent, with the last message from three days ago.
It was obvious they had made a secret group chat to keep me out.
I swallowed my annoyance and sent Daisy a message on WhatsApp: [Why didn't you invite me to the reunion?]
Ten minutes later, she finally replied: [Oh, honey, I forgot to tell you. They said it was a casual get-together with a few classmates. You don't like crowds anyway, so I didn't tell you. Have you eaten yet?]
Her tone was as caring as ever.
But I could still sense something was off.
I started texting a few classmates I still got along with. [So, who set up the reunion today?]
The first reply: [Not me. I was invited.]
The second: [No clue. Saw it in the WhatsApp group and showed up.]
The third: [I think it was Stuart? You should ask him.]
Stuart Hatcher was our class president, and he'd had a thing for Daisy ever since school.
My heart sank as I opened up Stuart's Instagram.
His latest post was a photo from the reunion.
But it was just a solo shot.
It was a solo shot of Daisy.
In the photo, she wore a gentle smile, and her eyes sparkled with a radiance I had almost forgotten.
I kept scrolling.
They seemed to treat me as if I were dead.
They were chatting away in the group chat and cracking jokes on Instagram without a care in the world.
No one admitted to being the organizer.
Everyone seemed to be abiding by an unspoken secret.
My heart sank little by little.
*****
Late that night, Daisy walked in, carrying the scent of alcohol and perfume.
She was humming to herself, clearly in a great mood.
Daisy called out, "Honey, I'm home."
Just like always, she tossed her bag onto the couch and walked over, wrapping her arms around me.
But as she hugged me, I caught a whiff of something besides the alcohol. There was an unfamiliar men's cologne on her, one I had never smelled before.
It wasn't Stuart's.
I knew Stuart's scent. It was a bold, woody fragrance.
This one was cooler, more refined, and definitely more expensive.
"You must be tired. Why don't you go freshen up?" I said, patting her back, keeping my voice steady.
She didn't notice anything strange about me and happily went into the bathroom.
Her phone was lying there on the couch, right next to her bag.
Before I knew it, I picked it up.
There was no password.
Her trust in me, or rather her disdain for taking precautions against me, made me feel like a joke.
I opened WhatsApp.
The top chat was with someone saved as "Honey."
It wasn't me.
I opened the chat.
The latest messages were from half an hour ago:
[Honey, you looked gorgeous today.]
[Come on, I drank a lot, my head's spinning.]
[Oh, honey, get some rest. Everything's set for tomorrow.]
[He's not going to find out, right?]
The last message came from that stranger she called "honey." He replied: [Don't worry, he'll never know. Everything's set.]
My blood ran cold in that instant.
There was something planned for tomorrow.