Chapter 3

I sat in front of my computer, lost in thought until the sky outside turned pitch black. It wasn't until I heard my kid coming home that I snapped out of it.

"Mom, I'm home! Where's Dad?" My son burst in, his backpack bouncing behind him, grinning from ear to ear.

I quickly wiped away my tears and managed a smile. "Dad's working overtime tonight, he'll be home late. Hungry? I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs."

"Awesome!" My son cheered and dashed off to wash his hands, not noticing a thing.

Looking at my son's innocent face, it felt like a knife was twisting in my chest.

He was only fifteen, at that sensitive, fragile age. If our family fell apart, how would he cope?

I couldn't let him grow up in a broken home, couldn't let him carry pain he was never meant to bear.

But I couldn't just pretend I knew nothing and keep up this charade with Rupert, acting like everything was fine when it wasn't.

Those hidden truths were like a thorn stuck deep in my heart. Every breath I took just made it hurt more.

At dinner, my son chattered away about school, his test scores, and all the funny things his classmates did.

I tried to listen, throwing in a few replies here and there, but my mind was a tangled mess.

I remembered how every time Rupert came back from a "business trip," he'd bring my son all sorts of cool little trinkets, take him to the amusement park, or play ball with him.

His kindness to our son felt so real and natural, but all that kindness was hiding a lie so deep that it hurt every time I thought about it.

How could he be so gentle and caring with us, while still holding onto a promise he made to another woman twenty years ago?

What was his heart even made of?

That night, when Rupert finally came home, I'd already tucked our son into bed.

He came through the door, carrying the faint smell of tobacco and just a trace of some unfamiliar floral scent.

"Why are you still up?" he asked, coming over like he always did, reaching out to hug me.

Without thinking, I stepped back, avoiding his touch.

Rupert paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

His eyes were still gentle, his voice still full of concern, but all that tenderness just felt like a stab to my heart now.

I stared at him, the man I'd loved all these eighteen years, at the silver wedding band on his left ring finger. My throat felt tight, like a stone was lodged there, and I couldn't get a word out.

"It's nothing," I said, ducking my head to hide the tears in my eyes. "Just a little tired."

He didn't think much of it and just nodded. "Get some rest, then. I'm going to take a shower."

He turned and walked into the bathroom, and the sound of water started up.

I sat on the bed, trembling, my mind flooded with every post, every photo, every update from their couple's page—each word stinging worse than the last.

I pulled out my phone and, for the first time, finally looked up Scarlet myself.

I couldn't find much with her Facebook handle, so I tried combining her nickname, Rupert's name, and keywords like "Edredo" and "villa" in my searches, just scrolling endlessly.

After scrolling through endless pages, I finally spotted a post on a local travel forum that grabbed my attention.

The title was: "Hidden Gem in Edredo: A Quiet Town for Slow Living". It was posted five years ago, in April.

The post went into detail about a place called Folnville—a quiet little town far from the crowds, with gorgeous views, historic villas, and wildflowers.

The author had uploaded tons of pictures: narrow cobblestone alleys, a stream trickling by, and... one shot of a villa.

The villa in that photo looked exactly like the one in Scarlet's feed.

The low wall, the red blossoms, the bamboo chairs—even that little pot of orchids in the corner matched perfectly.

At the end of the post, the author wrote: [There's a villa in town where a couple stays every March. They're always super friendly, and rumor has it they've been coming here for twenty years. Seriously, talk about fairytale romance.]

There were a few comments below.

[I've seen them too! I was there last March. Those two were totally couple goals—shopping, cooking, just hanging out in the yard with coffee and books.]

[That villa's tucked away at the very end of town. There's a big old locust tree out front, super easy to find.]

[Heard from the old folks in town that they bought that place ages ago. They only stay for a month each year, and the rest of the time it just sits empty. Talk about living life on their own terms—so romantic.]

Fairytale romance? Living life on their own terms?

Those words felt like needles stabbing into my heart.

Their romance was built on my pain.

Their promise was a betrayal of my eighteen years of marriage.

That carefully guarded villa, that town carrying their so-called fairytale romance—for me, it was nothing but pure torment.

I tapped on the poster's profile picture, hoping to dig up more info, only to find their account was already gone.