I glance at my reflection in the mirror as I curl the last section of my auburn hair. The soft waves cascade over my shoulders, framing my face in a way that's beautiful. My makeup is light yet elegant—a touch of blush, a soft shimmer on my eyelids, and a nude lip gloss that enhances my natural look. Satisfied, I smile to myself, feeling a rare sense of hope bubble within me.
He's going to love it—he's going to love me. I smile to myself even more.
I walk to my closet and retrieve the long purple dress I bought yesterday specially for this occasion. The fabric flows like liquid silk, and the color complements my fair complexion. I chose it because purple is Leonard's favorite color—at least that's what I thought—and I wanted to wear something that would catch his eye. As I slip it on, I recall the one time Leonard complimented my hairstyle.
His exact words were, "You look good with your hair like that." That small moment had stayed with me longer than I'd like to admit. It felt really nice. It gave me hope that maybe our marriage is not all that bad. That, maybe it wasn't even bad at all.
Styling my hair the same way now, I hope it'll bring a similar reaction—a smirk, a passing comment, or maybe even an affectionate glance. I want to believe that today could be different from the normal cold days, that maybe I'll get a glimpse of the man I've been hoping to reach for the past years.
Today is our anniversary and I want to surprise my husband. I've been married to Leonard for five years now. And today, I want to show Leonard how much he means to me, even if he hasn't quite reciprocated those feelings the way I want him to over the years.
Even though Leonard is not a man of many words, I fell deeply in love with him and I've always thought that maybe if I try hard enough, he'll see how much I care for him—how much I've fallen in love with him. How much he matters to me.
I check the time and my heart skips. It's almost noon, Leonard's usual lunch break. I grab my black Chanel bag and slip on my matching heels—a black silhouette. Then I step out of the room, moving quickly but carefully down the staircase.
"Good day, ma'am. The cookies have been packed," Anabel, the head chef, says as I step into the living room. She's wearing a bright smile and she's holding the red box of cookies, tied with a white neat ribbon.
"Thank you, Anabel. Have Sarah take them to the car," I reply with a small nod.
The cookies are my personal touch. I personally woke up early this morning—while Leonard was heading out for work— to bake them myself, wanting something homemade. He's not the type to get excited over gifts or gestures, but I thought, maybe this will be different. He likes cookies.
As I slide into the car, I glance out of the window, imagining his reaction. Will he smile? Will he even care? Will he hug me? Will he thank me? But I shove the doubts aside, not wanting it to affect my hopes for the day.
"Good day Ma'am" Mikel, the driver says, as he opens the car door for me.
I reply with a nod of my head and hop in, holding unto the cookie box.
---------
The drive to Leonard's office is a short one, though the nervous anticipation makes it feel much longer. My fingers drum against the box of cookies on my lap as I gaze out of the car window, imagining his reaction. Will he be surprised? Annoyed? Indifferent? But I push the thoughts aside again. I can't let self-doubt ruin this moment.
When we arrive at the towering glass building that houses Leonard's company, I take a deep breath. The driver opens the door for me, and I step out, clutching the cookie box tightly. I adjust my dress and walk into the reception area, my heels clicking against the marble floors.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Sinclair," the receptionist greets me politely.
"Good afternoon, Amanda. Is Leonard in his office?"
"He's in, but he's busy with a client right now," she replies, her tone hesitant.
"That's alright. I'll wait for him," I say, offering a polite smile.
Amanda looks at me. "Actually, Mr. Evans has requested no interruptions during his meetings, no matter who it's is. Perhaps you could come back later?"
I blink at her, taken aback. "It's only two minutes to his lunch break, isn't it? I won't take much of his time. Besides I'm his wife" I say softly understanding that she's just doing her job.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Amanda insists, her voice firm. "He gave strict instructions."
The rejection stings, but something about Amanda's demeanor feels... off. There's an unsual nervous edge to her tone, and she constantly avoids meeting my gaze. My stomach churns as unease creeps in. Why is she acting like this?
I look toward the elevators, my resolve hardens. "I'll just let him know I'm here," I say briskly, going past the reception desk before Amanda can protest.
"Ma'am, please wait!" She calls after me, but I ignore her and step into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. Before she can even reach me, the elevator doors slide close.
---
The elevator ride feels eternal. My heart pounds with fear in my chest. What if he's truly busy? What if I embarrass him? What if he gets upset?
When the doors slides open, I step into the hallway leading to Leonard's private office. His secretary, Michelle, rises from her desk just before I go past her desk, her expression is panicked.
"Mrs. Evans, you can't—"
"I just need a moment," my words cut through sharply as I maintain my fast pace so that she can't stop me easily. My heels echo against the polished floors as I reach Leonard's office door.
I hesitate for a split second, my hand hover over the handle. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open.
As I walk in, the first thing I notice is the stillness of the room as the familiar scent of cedarwood fills my nostrils. That's my husband's scent.
My eyes scan the place, I don't see him in his work seat. My gaze sweeps across the space—the neat desk and the large windows that overlook the city.
"Leonard," I call out almost in a whisper as I proceed further into the office. But there's no answer. I'm almost beginning to think that there's nobody inside the office, but then I hear Leonard's deep chuckle.
But then I see them.
It's fleeting—a blur of movement that makes my breath catch. My hand tightens around the box of cookies as my heart plummets, a cold weight settling in my chest.
I can't look away, but I can't bring myself to fully process what's in front of me. My vision swims, and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis.