“I asked two questions.”
“You have a tone.”
“I have a voice.”
Emma sighed.
“Can we not make this weird?”
There it was.
Weird.
A word that turns the person asking the question into the problem.
So I let it go.
That became my first mistake.
Not trusting Emma.
Silencing myself because I wanted to prove I trusted her.
There is a difference.
Over the next month, Alex’s name appeared occasionally.
Never too often.
Never in a way obvious enough to justify suspicion.
Emma would say:
“Alex thinks the campaign is going to flop.”
Or:
“Alex knows someone at the agency we’re considering.”
Once, I saw his name in a group email forwarded to Emma.
Legitimate.
Professional.
That reassured me.
Looking back, I was constantly searching for reasons to disprove my own instincts.
Then came the emotional distance.
Emma stopped planning.
Not the wedding.
She still answered caterer emails and sent venue ideas to her mother.
I mean us.
Before, she would randomly say:
“We should go to Seattle next year.”
Or:
“When we finally buy a house, I want a kitchen window.”
Or:
“If we ever get a dog, you’re the one walking it at six.”
Future language.
It disappeared.
Her sentences became immediate.
This week.
Tomorrow.
Tonight.
One Sunday, we were reviewing honeymoon options.
I suggested Portugal.
Emma stared at the laptop.
“Maybe we shouldn’t book anything yet.”
“Why?”
“Prices.”
“They’re refundable.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
She closed the computer.
“I’m tired.”
The first time I seriously considered that she might be reconsidering the wedding, I felt panic.
Not anger.
I tried harder.
I planned a date at the restaurant where we had our first real dinner.
Emma enjoyed herself.
Or performed enjoying herself.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
After dessert, I asked:
“Are you happy?”
She looked surprised.
“With dessert?”
“With me.”
Her expression softened.
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“Michael.”
“I’m asking.”
She reached across the table and took my hand.
“We’re planning a wedding.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“I love you.”
It was close enough.
I accepted it.
Three days later, she told me she had another late networking event.
Last Thursday morning changed everything.
Emma left the house around 7:40.
She was already late.
She rushed through the kitchen carrying her laptop bag, coffee, and keys while trying to answer an email.
“I’m going to miss my call.”
“You could have skipped eyeliner.”
She glared.
“You could have chosen not to speak.”
“I love you.”
She kissed me quickly.
“Love you too.”
Then the door closed.
I continued making breakfast.
Ten minutes later, I noticed the iPad on the kitchen counter.
Emma used it mostly for work presentations and travel.
She had probably left it while packing.
I picked it up intending to put it on her desk.
The screen lit.
Messages were synced.
At the top was a conversation.
Alex K.
The preview read:
Last night was exactly what I needed. Thank you for understanding me in ways he never could.
I stopped moving.
There are moments when the body understands something before the mind agrees.
My hands became cold.
My heartbeat increased.
I stared at the preview.
I told myself there could be context.
Maybe Alex had marital problems and Emma had offered advice.
Maybe “he” referred to a boss.
Maybe the message was from Alex to her.
Then I saw the alignment.
It was Emma’s message.