I went downstairs and met our friends in the living room. Denise was holding a bottle of orange juice. “I’m fine,” I said quickly.
“Sean’s not feeling well.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “On Valentine’s Day? That’s unfortunate timing.”
I forced a laugh.
“Food poisoning. I think the takeout from last night didn’t agree with him.”
Denise frowned. “Oh no.”
“I am so sorry, but we’ll have to postpone the announcement,” I added.
“It’s nothing dramatic with Sean. Just… bad shrimp.”
Mark shrugged.
“Well, more cinnamon rolls for us then.”
They stayed for 15 awkward minutes while I packed pastries into containers and thanked them for coming. Through the front window, I watched them leave, relief flooding through me. When the door finally shut, I leaned against it and exhaled.
Then I went back upstairs. Sean was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking defeated but calmer. “I sent them home,” I said.
I walked toward him slowly. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Doubted us,” I said.
He frowned. “It’s okay. I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning.
I was just embarrassed.”
“No, in all these years, you’ve never given me a reason to doubt you.”
“I let suspicion grow instead of asking you one simple question,” I continued. He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You surprised me, all right!”
He looked at me carefully.
“You were really going to divorce me?”
“I thought you were betraying our marriage,” I said. “I thought everything we built was a lie.”
He shook his head slowly. “Babe, I wouldn’t throw that away for anything.”
I believed him then.
“I put laxatives in your coffee,” I said quietly. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “I figured.”
“I invited our friends to watch me announce our divorce.”
He stared at the invitation still sitting in the box.
“I followed you, photographed you, and assumed the worst.”
“You did?” he asked gently. “Next time,” I said, “no secrets. Not even romantic ones.”
“Next time,” he agreed, “no poisoning.”
We both laughed quietly.
He reached for my hand. “You scared me this morning,” he admitted. “You scared me, too,” I replied.
He squeezed my fingers. “Fair.”
We sat there in silence for a moment. Finally, he said, “Would you come watch next Tuesday?
I mean, once my stomach forgives you.”
I smiled faintly. “I think I owe you that.”
“And maybe,” he added carefully, “after Ruth’s wedding, we could take lessons together.”
I tilted my head. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“I am.”
I leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
“Then yes,” I said. “But from now on, we talk. We don’t assume or investigate.
We talk.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
Downstairs, the coffee maker clicked off, forgotten and cold. Upstairs, in our messy bedroom filled with accusation and relief, we held hands as we had years before.
Later, when Sean was feeling much better and able to move around without needing the toilet every few minutes, I told him I had an errand to run. When I returned, I pulled out a second gift box from a package. This one was wrapped in silver paper.
“I bought this as your real Valentine’s gift,” I explained. He looked confused as he slowly opened it. “This isn’t going to be some exploding teddy-bear or something, right?”
Inside was a pair of professional, high-gloss ballroom dancing shoes.
They were black leather, sleek and elegant. He stared at them. “You noticed my old sneakers,” he said softly.
“I thought if you were going to cheat, you might as well do it in proper footwear,” I joked. He laughed despite himself, then immediately winced and held his stomach. I sat happily beside him.
And that was the morning I learned something humbling and painfully simple. Silence can destroy a marriage faster than betrayal ever could. Talking might just save it.
Was the main character right or wrong? Let’s discuss it in the Facebook comments.
