The Glasshouse Bloomed, My Marriage Withered

Synopsis

On the day of our seventh wedding anniversary, I felt something in the inside pocket of my husband Leonard Rivers' suit jacket. It was a keycard. The card was black matte, worn shiny at the edges from constant use. On the back, written in gold ink, were three words. It read: [For Rose. Private.] And right then, Leonard was standing in the center of the ballroom. He raised his champagne glass. Through all the flowers and the lights, he looked at me, his eyes soft. He said, "Natalie, you're the only one I'll ever love." Applause broke out around us. My phone lit up at the same time. A number I didn't know had sent three photos. The first one was taken in the glass conservatory on the west side of town. Leonard was bent over, tying a girl's shoelace. He looked patient, like he were handling something breakable. The second photo showed the girl in a long white dress. I had designed that dress myself and planned to wear it to our anniversary party. She was sitting among a whole row of Ecuadorian blue roses, looking up at him, smiling. The third was a screenshot of a payment. An additional payment for the climate control system at Rose Conservatory. 400,000 dollars. The payer was Leonard. Below the photos, there was a message. It read: [Mrs. Rivers, sorry about last night. The roses bloomed. Your husband was too busy keeping me company to come home.] I looked at the message and tapped my fingers against the edge of my phone case, twice, very lightly.