And then I remembered one of the reviews I’d read before making the appointment.
***Marco changed my life.***
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
Not because I was becoming more suspicious.
Because I was beginning to understand that whatever Marco had hidden from me wasn’t what I had feared.
And somehow, that didn’t make the secrecy hurt less.
The night before, I had waited until 11:47 for our anniversary dinner.
I’d cooked Marco’s favorite pasta.
Lit two candles.
Opened a bottle of wine.
At eight, he texted:
***Emergency. I’m sorry.***
At nine, I reheated the sauce.
At 10:05, I blew out one candle.
At 11:15, I packed everything into containers.
Marco came home after midnight and found me asleep on the couch.
The next morning, he kissed my forehead.
“I’ll make it up to you, darling.”
I smiled.
Then, after he left, I searched his name online.
I expected a hospital page.
Instead, I found an appointment-booking site.
Almost every review had been written by a woman.
***“Marco changed my life.”***
***“I was terrified, but he made me feel beautiful again.”***
***“My husband still doesn’t know I went to him.”***
Then I found the sentence that made my hand freeze over the mouse.
***“Ladies, trust me. He is worth every penny.”***
I booked the earliest appointment under my maiden name.
At first, I thought it would be funny.
A wife surprising her overworked husband.
Then I arrived at an ordinary office building on the edge of town.
No hospital logo.
No medical signs.
