Chapter 2

Mark was drunk.

Really drunk.

His tie was loose, his laughter too loud.

The reunion was winding down, but a small group lingered, reminiscing.

Mostly about Mark and Jessica.

And David, the brother who was gone.

Their intertwined past hung heavy in the air.

I sat on the edge of the group, nursing a club soda.

"Remember that crazy plan Mark had?" a guy named Steve slurred, clapping Mark on the back. "The 'Ten-Year Love Blueprint' for Jess?"

There it was again. That phrase.

My stomach clenched.

Steve continued, oblivious. "He had it all mapped out. Trips, gifts, even the proposal. Down to the damn song he' d play."

He winked at Jessica. "You were a lucky girl, Jess."

Jessica giggled, leaning into Mark' s side.

"Oh, that silly thing," she said, but her eyes gleamed.

She rested her head on Mark' s shoulder.

He was too drunk to push her away. Or maybe he didn't want to.

"It wasn't silly," Mark mumbled, his words thick. "It was... a masterpiece."

He grinned, a sloppy, sentimental grin.

"Every detail. For Jessica."

The words hit me.

Cold. Hard.

My carefully constructed image of our love story, our shared memories...

It all felt like a lie.

A recycled fantasy.

I wasn't the original. I was the understudy.

The room tilted.

My perfect marriage, built on his leftover dreams for another woman.

All those romantic gestures, the trips he' d planned "just for us," the songs he' d said were "our songs."

Were they all echoes of his plan for Jessica?

The realization was a punch to the gut.

I felt sick.

Later, much later, the party finally broke up.

Mark could barely stand.

I helped him towards the exit, his arm heavy around my shoulders.

He was muttering Jessica' s name.

"Need to find Jess... make sure Jess is okay..."

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to leave him there.

But I was the good wife. The supportive wife.

I got him into the car.

As I was buckling him in, his phone, which had fallen onto the passenger seat, lit up.

A text from Jessica.

"Are you home safe? Worried about you. K."

K for Kevin? Or K for kiss?

My hands trembled on the steering wheel.

I drove home in silence, the weight of his drunken snores and my dawning horror filling the car.

He was still muttering.

Not my name. Hers.

I half-carried, half-dragged him into the house.

He collapsed onto the sofa in the den.

I went to get him a glass of water, a blanket.

Routine.

The motions of a caring wife.

When I came back, he wasn't alone.

Jessica was there.

She was kneeling beside him, stroking his hair.

Her lips were close to his ear.

They didn't see me.

They were in their own world.

A world I was clearly not a part of.

Then, she leaned down and kissed him.

A soft, lingering kiss.

On the lips of my husband.