Chapter 1
Roger came home in the middle of the night, smelling of alcohol and some strange perfume.
He flung a card onto the table. "Anniversary present. The PIN's your birthday," he said, his tone flat.
I didn't even look at the card. Instead, I slid my phone across the table to him, the screen showing a photo of him peeling shrimp for another girl.
"Who is she?" I asked calmly.
His expression froze, then he snapped, "You've been following me? Does this amuse you? I give you money, and you're still not satisfied?"
"Money?" I laughed, picking up the card. "Perfect. I've been meaning to figure out just how much you've stashed away behind my back all these years."
The next day, that girl messaged me. [Hey Madeline, did you enjoy the drama last night? If you want to see what happens next, meet me at Monologue Cafe.]
*****
Monologue Cafe sat on the west side of town. The name was clever.
When I got there, Claire was already waiting.
She was stirring her latte, tilted her chin in my direction, and signaled for me to take a seat.
She looked even younger in person than in the photos, with that natural, unspoiled kind of beauty that hadn't been touched by the world yet.
"Madeline, not bad, right? I even got a friend who's into photography to help out—the angles and lighting were spot on," Claire said.
I ordered an Americano, no sugar, no milk.
"Appreciate it," I said.
"No big deal. Just doing my job for the cash," she grinned. "Roger was really generous; he treated our whole photography club to a seafood feast, all for that one picture."
I took a sip of my coffee, the bitterness spreading across my tongue.
"He didn't suspect anything?" I asked.
"Suspect what? That a junior student who admires his talent would team up with his wife to pull a fast one on him?" Claire replied.
She turned her phone around, showing me her chat history with Roger.
[Roger, I'm so sorry. I had no idea Madeline would see the photo.]
[Roger, do you think Madeline misunderstood? You should go explain to her.]
[Roger, I'm so scared.]
Every single message was classically bitchy. Honestly, I almost had to admire her performance.
No wonder she was a star student at the drama academy.
"So, what's next?" I asked.
Claire put her phone away, leaned in, and lowered her voice.
"Time to crank up the heat. Madeline, you ready to play the bitter wife about to get thrown out?" she asked.
I looked at her, and she looked right back at me, her eyes sparkling with that wild ambition and the thrill exclusive to the young, like she was front row at a drama.
"It's your script. I'm just here to play along," I said.
She grinned, satisfied. "Deal. Let the second act begin."
That night, for once, Roger didn't work late. He actually came home early.
He walked in carrying a roast goose from my favorite spot, wearing that overly eager, placating smile.
"Madeline, I messed up. It was all just for show with her, you know how business goes. There's always some schmoozing," he said.
He set the roast goose on the table and tried to reach for my hand.
I dodged his hand.
"Roger, we've been married for eight years," I said softly.
My voice was quiet, but he froze.
"I know, I know I messed up," he rushed to say, his voice desperate. "I'll end things with her, right now. Please, believe me.
"My mom's coming over tomorrow."
I couldn't help but sneer to myself.
So he was bringing in backup.
Without saying a word, I turned and headed to the kitchen to make him a bowl of pasta.
For eight years, every time he came home drunk, I'd make him a bowl of pasta.
He looked at the bowl, a flicker of emotion crossing his face.
"Madeline, you still care about me," he said softly.
I set the pasta in front of him. "Eat up. We'll talk when you're done."
He didn't get what I really meant and just dug right in, eating without a second thought.
I watched him, my mind drifting back to when we'd just gotten married.
Back then, he'd eat the noodles I made, his eyes only ever on me.
When did those eyes start wandering to someone else? And just how many secrets had he been hiding from me all this time?
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a message from Claire, a photo of a pregnancy test, with two clear lines.
The caption read: [Madeline, showtime for me.]