If a Tree Falls

This is the second of my Tropes. "Wife cheats with her Boss." It started out to be a classic BTB. But as I got into it, I found myself liking Anne, so the ending changed a little. Lots of dialogue and description, no sex and written in Aussie English. Please enjoy.

If a Tree Falls

The Party

David adjusted his collar in the passenger mirror, feeling ridiculous for fussing. He wasn't a suit-and-tie guy, a Polo and Chinos were about as formal as he got, but Anne had insisted: It's important, David. It's not just a party, it's networking.

He knew that meant she needed to show up with a husband who didn't embarrass her. Although lately it seemed, he did.

The hotel ballroom glittered with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city lights, but David's eyes were on Anne. She moved through the crowd with effortless command, hand on the small of someone's back, making introductions, tossing her hair when she laughed. She wore an emerald-green dress that matched her eyes and made her look, exotic, powerful.

He felt a flicker of pride. And then insecurity.

Anne was a Senior Marketing Executive at Gibson & Tate, one of the biggest advertising firms in the city. She had closed seven figure campaigns, presented to CEOs, Boards. David ran a small Tech startup, they had treaded water for 4 years but thanks to a suite of Integration Software he and his partners had produced and copyrighted, the Big 3 had come courting, after months of negotiations he had secured Licensing deals worth millions, over the next five years the three Partners would each be worth well into the high eight figures, guaranteed.

They should have been celebrating. But Anne didn't even know. She knew that he had made a deal, that the Partnership had made money, just not the full scope. She never had time to discuss his "Little Startup".

He should have been on top of the world.

Instead, he felt like an accessory.

Felt he should have been checked at the door along with the coats and bags.

She waved him over, like she was summoning a waiter.

"David, there you are! Come meet Jordan."

Jordan was her manager. Tall, designer suit, expensive haircut. His handshake was limp, and he didn't really look at David, his eyes flicked past him to scan the room.

They had been introduced twice before, Anne seemed to have forgotten. David hadn't. He thought Jordan was a cliché, more at home selling used cars or hosting a game show.

"This is my husband, David," Anne prompted.

Jordan forced a thin smile. "Ah, the genius founder. Heard you're making bank now. Congrats on finally hitting a jackpot."

David frowned. "It's a licensing agreement, not a lottery ticket."

Jordan gave a dismissive shrug. "Same difference. Monetize while you can, windfalls a windfall, right?"

Anne laughed... too quickly. "Jordan's just teasing. Don't mind him."

But the conversation had already ended for Jordan, who turned away to greet someone else.

David stood there, ignored.

Anne didn't notice... or pretended not to. She launched into another conversation with two of her colleagues. David heard snippets.

"... next quarter's projections..."

"... media buy..."

"... Jordan's strategy was brilliant..."

David forced a smile and wandered to the bar.

He sipped his bourbon slowly, watching.

Anne was radiant, charming everyone. She touched Jordan's arm when he spoke. They laughed, heads close, his hand at her back.

David's chest tightened.

A woman next to him at the bar caught his expression.

"Tough night?" she asked sympathetically.

He snorted. "Something like that. Work party. My wife's."

She glanced over. "She's the one in green?"

He nodded.

"She seems... quite at home here."

David didn't reply.

Later, he tried to rejoin Anne.

"Hey... Hon, feel like dancing?"

She barely glanced at him. "What? Oh... David, we're talking strategy for the Richardson account. Can you give us five?"

Jordan smirked at David over her shoulder.

David's jaw tightened, he clenched his fists... He walked away.

He waited by the dessert table, watching her ignore him.

He heard Jordan making jokes about "tech bros" that made her coworkers laugh.

Anne was laughing too.

David felt like throwing the champagne flute at the wall.

Finally, as the event started winding down, Anne walked over with that bright PR smile still plastered on.

"Ready to go?" she chirped.

He didn't answer.

"David?"

He turned on his heel and walked to the car.

In the car

She started the engine, humming tunelessly, as if nothing had happened.

He couldn't take it.

"You really enjoyed yourself tonight," he said acidly.

She didn't look at him. "It's my job to be... on."

"Yeah. On Jordan's arm."

Her head snapped around. "Excuse me?"

"You ignored me all night. He was insulting me to my face. You didn't say a word."

"He wasn't insulting you. You're being dramatic."

David slammed his hand on the dash. "Jesus, Anne! He called me a lottery winner. He treated me like an idiot... and you laughed along."

She rolled her eyes. "You're to sensitive."

"Oh, so it's my fault?"

"Honestly, yes. It's embarrassing. You were sulking in the corner."

He gaped at her. "Because you ditched me."

"I was working. That's how these events go. You knew that."

"I didn't know I'd be humiliated in front of your coworkers."

She snorted. "Humiliated? Grow up."

"Is Jordan worth it?"

She froze. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You seemed pretty cozy."

She pulled the car over sharply, braking hard. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out, David. Walk home if you're going to accuse me of cheating."

He stared at her, stunned, outraged, belittled.

Her face was pale with anger.

"I'm not doing this with you," she spat. "Get out."

He didn't move.

"Fine," she said, voice shaking. She took a deep breath. "You want to talk? Fine. Jordan is my manager. He's the reason I'm getting the promotion next quarter. He's the reason our team has the Richardson account. I'm not going to sabotage that to babysit your ego."

David felt something snap.

"My ego? I've spent the last six months watching you treat me like an obligation. You barely even look at me anymore. Do you even know, what I've been doing for the last three months, where I've been? You couldn't even be bothered to attend our Signing Dinner because Jordan needed to discuss, fuck knows what. Three hours Anne, you couldn't spare me three hours to celebrate our achievement."

She sneered. "Of course I do, you've been selling computer stuff in Seattle. You're being pathetic. You know I have important responsibilities and can't just drop everything every time you and your geek friends want to go to the pub."

He turned to stare out the window, heart pounding.

Neither spoke for the rest of the drive.

When they got home, Anne headed straight upstairs.

David followed.

"Anne..."

She whirled. "What?"

He took a breath. Tried to steady his voice.

"I don't even know who you are anymore."

She laughed bitterly. "That's rich. Because I know exactly who you are. A child who can't handle not being the centre of attention."

He felt like she'd punched him.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She shook her head in disgust. "I'm done talking."

She slammed the bedroom door in his face.

He stood there in the hall, listening to her muffled sobs on the other side.

He didn't knock.

He went downstairs, poured another drink, and sat alone in the dark.

Outside, the city lights blinked indifferently.

He couldn't shake the image of her with Jordan, heads together, laughing like they shared a secret,... He hated himself for wondering if that's exactly what they had.

He smirked at me, fucking smirked at me, fuck!

A Heated Discussion

Morning light leaked through the curtains, grey and sullen, matching David's mood, setting the tone in the house.

David sat at the kitchen table, fingers drumming a slow, irritated beat. The coffee in front of him had gone cold.

Upstairs, he could hear the shower running.

Last night he'd slept on the couch. Not slept, really, more like stared at the ceiling until dawn, replaying every word they'd spat at each other in the car.

When Anne finally came downstairs, she didn't even look at him. She walked straight to the fridge, grabbed a water bottle, cracked it open.

David watched her.

She wore black leggings and a sweatshirt. Hair wet. No makeup. She looked younger, vulnerable. But her face was hard.

He cleared his throat.

"Anne."

Nothing.

"Anne." Louder this time.

She exhaled, eyes still on the floor. "What."

"We need to talk."

She glanced at him, eyes ice cold. "About what, David? About how you embarrassed me last night?"

He blinked, stunned. "I embarrassed you?"

"Yes. You sulked. You glared at everyone. You made it so fucking awkward."

He felt heat rise in his face. "I'm sorry I didn't enjoy watching my wife climb all over her boss while he mocked me to my face."

"Oh my God," she groaned. "Still with this?"

"You don't even deny it!"

She slammed the water bottle onto the counter. "Deny what? That I was talking to my manager? That's my job!"

He stood so fast the chair scraped across the floor. "He insulted me. Repeatedly. You laughed. He fucking smirked at me Anne, fucking smirked at me, then, you dismissed me"

"He's... my manager!" she snapped. "Do you have any idea how this works? Do you want me to scold him in front of the team? You want me to lose every shred of credibility because my husband can't take a joke?"

"A joke?" He barked a laugh. "He called me a lottery winner. He treated me like some idiot who got lucky. And you thought it was funny."

Her lip curled. "God, you're a child, you're so fucking insecure."

He reeled back like she'd slapped him.

Silence hung heavy.

He swallowed hard. "Perhaps, since my wife has lost all respect for me."

She laughed without humour. "Respect? David, you want me to bow down because you finally sold some software. You think you're some big shot now?"

He felt something shift inside him.

"I never wanted you to bow down. I just wanted you to be on my side."

She crossed her arms. "You want me to be your cheerleader. Always. Even when you're sulking in a corner like a child."

"I was humiliated!"

She snorted. "You humiliated yourself."

He slammed his fist on the table. "I'm your husband! You're supposed to have my back!"

She jumped, startled by the sound, then her face hardened again.

"Don't pull that card," she spat. "You think being my husband means I have to stroke your ego at work? Do you have any clue the pressure I'm under? Jordan is an asshole, yes. But he's damn good at what he does, the opportunities he has given me are the reason I'll be promoted. He's the reason I'm even still there."

David shook his head. "So, you'll kiss his ass and laugh along while he disrespects and humiliates your husband? Your husband... Anne."

"I don't have a choice!" she screamed. "I'm trying to keep my fucking job, David! You know, the job that pays our mortgage, pays our bills while you fly around hawking computer games."

He took a step toward her. Lowered his voice, trembling. "What happened to you? What happened to us? When did we become... whatever the fuck this is"

She blinked rapidly.

He pressed. "We used to talk. We used to... be close. We used to be friends. I even remember we used to be lovers."

She wiped angrily at her eyes. "Don't. Don't do this now."

He ignored her. "We haven't had sex in five months."

She inhaled sharply.

He kept going. "We're never home at the same time. When we are, you're on your phone. Or you're exhausted. Or you're pissed at me. Or just don't want to fucking touch me"

She turned away.

He stepped closer. "Anne... Hon. Talk to me. Please."

Her voice was a ragged whisper. "What do you want me to say? That I'm tired all the time? That work is killing me. That every time I try to relax, you're accusing me of fucking my boss?"

He flinched.

She whirled around. Tears in her eyes. "You want honesty? Fine. I hate coming home sometimes. Because I know this is waiting. The tension. The fights. You... looking at me like I'm failing you."

She wiped her nose. "And you? You're never around either. You were in San Francisco for two weeks. Before that you were in Toronto. You barely texted. You didn't even ask how my pitch went that day."

He winced. She wasn't wrong.

But the words still burned.

"So... what?" he demanded. "We just... stop caring? We let it die?"

Her lip trembled. "I don't know."

Silence.

He felt the anger draining out of him, leaving only exhaustion.

He sat back down, head in his hands.

She leaned against the counter; arms wrapped around herself.

Minutes passed.

Finally, he whispered, "I love you."

She didn't answer.

He looked up. "Do you still love me?"

Her eyes glistened, but her face was stone.

She didn't speak.

He swallowed hard. "That's all I need to know."

He stood and walked past her, brushing her shoulder gently.

She didn't move.

That night they lay in bed, back-to-back.

Not touching.

Not speaking.

The gulf between them felt endless.

David stared into the dark until his eyes burned.

He heard her breathing, ragged but controlled.

He wondered if she was crying, wondered if she cared enough to cry.

He didn't turn around to check.

Anne

Anne sat in her parked car outside their house, gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

The argument at home yesterday, was brutal, but he was right, and she was... deflecting, gaslighting.

Jordan's attitude at the event had been humiliating for them both. But it wasn't the asshole's smirking cruelty that haunted her... It was the look on David's face.

Humiliation, Pain, Betrayal

He used to be my safe place, she thought bitterly. Now I can't even look at him without wanting to cry.

She closed her eyes, leaned her head back.

This is my fault.

She knew it. She'd known it for weeks.

When she finally went inside, David was in the living room, laptop open but untouched.

He didn't even look up.

She swallowed hard.

Say something. Fix this.

But she walked straight upstairs.

Later, in bed, she lay rigid beside him.

She heard his breathing slow, but she didn't think he was asleep.

She almost whispered, I'm sorry.

But the words stuck.

She felt like an imposter.

Because the truth was, she had betrayed him, she was still betraying him.

Jordan.

Her stomach twisted.

It hadn't started as an affair. Just late-night drinks after too many work hours, venting about clients and campaigns.

Then one night he touched her shoulder, and she didn't stop him.

The guilt had eaten her alive. But not enough to make her stop.

Jordan was dangerous, magnetic. He understood ambition. He talked strategy in bed.

She hated herself for it. She hated how alive it made her feel.

With David it was bills, travel schedules, endless small resentments.

With Jordan it was simple. Ruthless. Dirty.

But the Party changed everything.

Watching Jordan sneer at David, realizing how casually cruel he was... how little he cared about anyone but himself... it made her sick.

David didn't deserve that.

He's a better man than Jordan will ever be.

She knew it.

And she knew she was losing him.

The next morning

She tried to act normal.

She made coffee. She opened her laptop. Her shield. Pretended to check email.

David sat across from her, not speaking.

She felt the gap like a canyon.

She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or beg.

But she couldn't.

Because guilt had stolen her voice.

My wife has lost all respect for me.

His words kept ringing in her ears.

She didn't respect him... Because she couldn't respect herself.

When she found out about his company's licensing deal... millions, fucking millions... she felt like the floor dropped out from under her.

He had been working so hard... she'd been screwing her boss.

He'd built something real, built a fortune... for them... She'd laughed at him.

He wasn't a "lottery winner." He was a fucking genius... she'd let Jordan humiliate him in front of everyone.

She'd wanted to vomit when she realized she hadn't defended David because she didn't feel worthy to.

Confrontation over Coffee

She called Jordan.

He sounded smug. "Anne. Didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

Her voice shook. "I want to talk. Now. Private."

They met at a coffee shop near the office.

She didn't bother sitting down.

"What you did was fucking was unacceptable," she hissed.

He blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You insulted my husband. In front of the entire team. You humiliated him."

Jordan's lip curled. "Your pussy husband can't take a joke."

She slapped the table. Jordan flinched, Heads turned. She didn't care.

"Don't you fucking ever talk about him that way again. Do you fucking understand me?"

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "Anne. Calm down."

She leaned in, voice low and shaking. "This stops after Richardson, it ends on the Island."

He frowned.

"I'm deadly serious. No more. After the resort. We're done. Or I'll fucking tell your wife myself. And I'll file with HR."

Jordan's eyes narrowed.

She didn't flinch.

"I mean it, Jordan. This ends. I'm done lying to my husband. I'm done feeling like garbage, feeling like a whore, selling myself to you."

Jordan rounded on her, his eyes on fire. "Fuck you Anne... You started this, you wanted to fuck me to get Promoted. Don't blame me because you feel... guilty."

"It's my fucking Skills that will get me promoted... You piece of shit... I fucked you so I could get in the game, get the accounts that get noticed. My Talent will get me the recommendation, not you."

He snorted. "You'd blow up your career for him?"

"My Career, Yours, Your Marriage, Your little harem in the Department... I'll fucking burn it all down before I let you hurt or humiliate him again."

She bit her lip. Tears threatened, but she held them back.

She turned and walked out, leaving her coffee untouched.

At Home

That night at home, she tried to talk to David.

He was in the study, headphones on, staring at code.

She stood in the doorway.

"David?"

He didn't look up.

"Can we... talk?"

He sighed and pulled the headphones down.

She walked in slowly.

She didn't know how to start.

Tell him the truth. Tell him you're sorry. Tell him everything.

But the words caught in her throat.

"I have that trip coming up," she said lamely.

He stiffened immediately.

"Oh. The resort trip," he said with venom.

She winced.

"It's for work."

He snorted. "Yeah. With Jordan."

She swallowed.

"I don't want to fight."

"Then don't go," he said quietly.

She felt tears well.

"I can't. It's part of closing the Richardson deal. It's... it's the last big push. After this I'll be promoted. I'll be able to breathe."

He didn't respond.

She walked closer, heart racing.

"I want us back," she whispered.

His eyes flickered up, pain etched deep.

"Do you?" he asked. "Because you've got a fucked-up way of showing it."

She felt her knees weaken.

"I do," she said. "David, please. I know I've been distant. I know I've been horrible. I've just been... under so much pressure. After this trip, it'll be different. I promise. I'll be here. For you. For us."

He looked at her like he didn't believe a word.

She swallowed.

She reached out, fingers brushing his arm.

"Please. Let me... let me be close to you tonight."

He jerked back.

"Don't," he rasped.

Her heart broke.

She stepped back, arms hugging herself.

"I'm going on the trip," she said finally. Voice hollow. "But when I get back... I'll fix this. I swear to God, David. I'll fix us."

He turned away.

That night she lay awake beside him, not touching.

She could feel the hate in the silence.

Not hate for her.

Hate for what she'd done to them.

Departure

"Please. Don't do this. Don't send me off like this."

She rolled her suitcase to the door.

David didn't offer to help.

He watched her like a stranger.

She turned one last time.

"I love you," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

She wiped her eyes, turned, and walked out.

On the plane, she told herself repeatedly:

This will be the last time.

After this, I'm his again.

After this, I'm done with Jordan.

Then she'd be done lying.

David

David woke up before dawn, lying stiffly on his side, staring at the closet door.

He heard Anne's alarm go off, the soft chime muffled by the blankets. She rolled over, fumbled to silence it.

She didn't say a word.

He stayed still, eyes open, listening as she got up, showered, packed the last of her things.

The zipper of her suitcase sounded like a closing coffin.

I should say something.

But what was left to say?

He'd heard her plea last night.

"After this trip, it'll be different. I promise."

Different how?

He knew the shape of her lies.

He also knew how desperately he wanted to believe them.

He got up when he heard her go downstairs.

She was standing by the door, suitcase upright, checking her phone.

Even now, she looked incredible. Hair pulled back tight, professional. The travel blazer she wore made her look forceful, compelling. Untouchable.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her in work mode, years ago, pitching in a tiny agency boardroom like her life depended on it. He'd been so fucking proud of her.

He still was.

But he was also disgusted.

She saw him and straightened.

"Morning," she said, voice too bright.

He grunted. Didn't move.

Her smile faltered.

She cleared her throat. "I guess this is it."

He folded his arms. "Yep."

She winced. "David..."

He didn't respond.

She tried again. "Please. Don't do this. Don't send me off like this."

He scoffed. "How should I send you off, Anne? Want me to drive you? Carry your bags? Kiss you goodbye?"

She flinched like he'd hit her.

He felt sick.

He hadn't wanted to be cruel.

But the words were boiling over.

"David. Please." Her voice cracked. "I don't want us like this."

He barked a bitter laugh. "Then don't go."

She closed her eyes.

"You know I can't."

He shook his head. "No, Anne. You won't."

Silence.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

Her eyes glistened.

He tried to calm himself, lowering his voice.

"Tell me one thing. Just one. Will you be with him?"

She hesitated.

That was enough.

He nodded slowly. "That's all I needed to know."

Her voice broke. "It's work, David. It's for the account. This is the last big thing before my promotion. I need to do this."

He felt like vomiting.

Promotion.

That word had become a cancer in their marriage.

He turned away, facing the living room.

"Go," he said hoarsely.

"I don't want to fight."

He didn't turn around. "I'm too tired to fight."

Silence stretched.

He could hear her breathing hard, trying not to cry.

Then her voice dropped, so quiet he almost missed it.

"I love you."

He clenched his jaw.

He wanted to say I love you too.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because he didn't know if they were true anymore.

She waited another moment.

When he didn't answer, she wiped her eyes, grabbed the suitcase handle, and pulled the door open.

Cold morning light spilled in.

She paused on the threshold.

Her shoulders shook once.

Then she straightened and walked out.

He heard the door click shut.

It sounded final.

He stood in the empty hall, breathing like he'd run a marathon.

He pressed a fist to his mouth to stop himself from shouting her name.

He went to the window and watched her climb into the Uber.

Watched her not look back.

The car pulled away.

The house felt dead.

Hours later

He couldn't work.

He sat at his desk, trying to review documents his lawyer had sent over.

His eyes kept blurring.

He kept thinking about her.

Her hair dripping wet in the mornings. Her laugh when she watched old sitcoms. The way she used to call him "genius" when he solved stupid little household problems.

He felt like an idiot for still loving her.

He also felt rage.

She didn't even deny it.

She didn't even try.

He remembered the look on her face when he asked about Jordan.

Not guilt.

Resignation.

She hadn't even bothered to lie.

His phone buzzed.

A text from his sister:

How'd it go last night?

He didn't answer.

He couldn't explain this in words.

Another text came in, from Anne.

I just boarded. I'm sorry about this morning.

He stared at it.

He didn't type anything back.

Another message followed.

Please talk to me.

I love you.

I'll make this right.

He put the phone face-down on the desk.

He went to the kitchen and poured a drink, even though it was barely noon.

He took a long swallow.

It burned.

Good.

He tried to imagine her on the island.

Her and Jordan.

Strictly work.

He almost laughed.

He hated himself for the pictures in his head.

Jordan's hand on her thigh.

Anne's laugh, husky and unguarded.

He slammed the glass down so hard it cracked.

He pressed his palms to the counter.

What the fuck happened to us.

He remembered a night two years ago, lying on the grass outside their old apartment, staring at the stars, talking about baby names.

They'd been so sure.

So in love.

Now they couldn't even touch each other.

He started to cry.

Not loud.

Just silent, shaking sobs that left him gasping for air.

When it passed, he wiped his face and stared at the cracked glass on the counter.

He had no idea if she was coming back to him.

No idea if he'd even want her if she did.

He picked up his phone again.

Her last message was still there.

I'll make this right.

He deleted it without reading it again.

And then he sat down at the table, alone in the quiet house, and waited for the day to be over.

Anne

Anne stood on the balcony of her resort suite, barefoot, watching the sunrise burn the sea into molten gold.

Her laptop rested on the railing.

She had a half-drunk flute of room-service champagne in one hand.

She hadn't slept much.

Not because of Jordan... though he was snoring in the bed behind her.

Because her head was still buzzing with adrenaline.

I did it.

Yesterday, she'd stood in a conference room full of Richardson Board members in tailored resort wear, sea breeze blowing through the open doors.

She'd nailed it.

Every slide, every talking point, every anticipated objection.

She'd out-researched, out-thought, and out-pitched every other team competing for the contract.

When she finished, there'd been a moment of silence.

Then applause. Genuine applause.

The Richardson CFO said, "That was the most thorough, convincing strategy presentation I've seen this year."

She felt her face warm just remembering it.

I did this.

Not Jordan. Not the agency name.

Me.

Jordan had been over the moon.

He'd clapped her on the shoulder in front of the clients. "That's my girl!"

She'd smiled, professional.

Later, alone, he'd tried to pull her in for a celebratory kiss in the corridor.

She'd let him.

Barely.

Because by then, the thrill was gone.

They'd fucked the night.

But she'd been distracted.

Going over notes in her head even as he moved above her.

He didn't notice.

Or didn't care.

In the days that followed, they kept sharing the same suite.

Because it was expected. Because it was convenient.

Because it was easier than admitting the whole thing was rotting from the inside.

Every morning they'd review strategy for the next Richardson session.

Every afternoon they'd drink with the clients by the pool.

Every evening they'd celebrate in bed.

But it felt mechanical.

She started snapping at him.

"Did you even read the brief?" she'd snarl when he missed a detail.

He'd laugh it off. "That's why I have you."

She wanted to slap him.

When the Richardson Board signed on the dotted line, Jordan went ballistic with joy.

He got so drunk that night he tried to finger her under the dinner table.

She kicked him hard enough to raise a bruise, he swore at her.

He called her a tease.

She called him an ungrateful asshole.

She didn't even know why she slept with him after that.

Habit.

Spite.

Something ugly she didn't want to name.

But the best moment of the trip wasn't the deal signing.

It was the email she got the last morning before departure.

Anne--

Congratulations on Richardson. Outstanding work. Jordan says you led the entire pitch yourself. The Richardson Chairman called me gushing about you. Our Chairman called me personally, Richardson is a significant win for the Company, and we have you to thank for that. The Board will be voting you a substantial Bonus. Consider this confirmation of your appointment as VP Client Relations. Let's talk next week about salary and benefits. Well Done.

-- Tom, Managing Director

She'd read it four times in bed while Jordan slept.

She had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming with relief.

VP Client Relations... Jordan and the other team mangers reporting to me.

She'd done it.

Years of 14-hour days. Of flights and hotel rooms and cold coffee.

Of selling herself... sometimes literally, she realized with shame.

I didn't have to do that.

I was always enough.

What would the cost be?

She felt something wet hit the back of her hand.

She realized she was crying.

Later, over resort breakfast, Jordan tried to toast her with mimosas.

"To the best damn marketing exec in the business."

She smiled tightly.

"VP," she corrected.

He blinked.

"VP?"

She flashed her phone with the email.

He read it, jaw tightening.

She watched him struggle to smile.

"Congrats," he managed... "Boss"

She clinked his glass hard enough some spilled.

Then, an epiphany. She laughed... at him.

"You thought you were going to get it. You thought you'd ride in on my back to the VP role and I'd get your leftovers. Oh Jordan, I can see right through you."

She didn't even try to hide her contempt.

All that day she kept twisting the knife.

"Maybe I'll move into the Corner office. You know the one looking out on the park."

"I'll be happy on the Exec Floor, away from your bullshit jokes."

"Think I'll be too busy for your late-night strategy sessions."

"Guess you'll need someone else to babysit you through client meetings."

He took it in silence for a while.

Eventually he snapped back.

"You wouldn't have landed them without me."

She leaned in, voice like poison.

"I would have landed them without you... without you fucking me."

He turned red.

But he didn't argue.

That last night, he barely touched her.

When he tried, she rolled away.

He didn't push.

She barely slept. Spent most of the night drafting the outline of her VP strategy plan.

At the airport

They sat in the lounge, barely speaking.

Jordan watched soccer highlights on his phone.

She sipped water, reviewing her inbox.

At one point he muttered, "What's our story?"

She didn't even look up.

"That we worked."

He scoffed. "After everything..."

She cut him off.

"I'm done, Jordan."

Silence.

She felt him staring.

But she didn't flinch.

On the plane

She wrote David a long email she didn't send.

David,

I know you think you hate me.

I don't blame you.

But I want you to know I love you. I never stopped.

I did terrible things because I was scared.

I don't want to be scared anymore.

I want you. Us. A family.

Please let me come home.

She read it again.

Then deleted it.

I'll tell him in person.

Arriving home

She stood at the door, suitcase in hand, heart hammering.

David opened it slowly.

He looked awful.

Beard scruffy. Eyes bloodshot.

Her chest ached.

"Hi," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

She dropped her suitcase and grabbed his face in her hands.

He stiffened.

She kissed him anyway.

When he pulled back, breath ragged, she saw the tears in his eyes.

"I'm home," she said fiercely.

He didn't respond.

She pressed her forehead to his.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

He swallowed.

"You're late," he rasped.

She laughed, choked with tears.

"I'm here now."

That night, she climbed into bed with him.

He was rigid.

But she didn't stop.

She kissed his jaw, his neck, whispered apologies over and over.

When he finally relaxed, she felt it like a dam breaking.

He kissed her back so hard it hurt.

They clung to each other like drowning people.

When they made love, she cried so hard she couldn't see.

He didn't say anything.

Just held her tighter.

Over the next month

She changed everything.

She worked from home two days a week.

She cooked dinners, burned them, laughed it off.

She cancelled trips.

She brought him coffee in bed.

She asked about his work and listened.

When he snapped, she didn't fight.

She just waited until he calmed down.

She told him every day she loved him.

He resisted at first.

But she wore him down.

One night, lying tangled together, he murmured against her hair:

"Don't leave me again."

She kissed his chest.

"I won't," she promised.

A month later, they sat on the porch with takeout containers between them, talking baby names again.

She watched him laugh at something stupid she said and thought:

I got him back.

But a voice in her head whispered:

For now.

She pushed it away.

And smiled at her husband.

Questions

David pushed open the back door of his sister's house, the way he always had, no knocking, no warning.

Leah looked up from the kitchen island where she was peeling apples, her daughter colouring beside her.

She took one look at him and said, "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I haven't," he muttered, Grinning.

She handed him coffee without asking. He took it.

They sat on the porch. No words at first. Just cicadas and the scrape of his spoon against the mug.

Leah was patient like that. She always waited for him to break.

And finally, he did.

"She's... amazing lately."

Leah raised an eyebrow.

"She's cooking, she's home, she's affectionate... like, we're good. Better than we've been in a year, fuck in two years."

"That's good," she said. "Isn't it?"

David stared at the sky. "Yeah. It should be. But I don't trust it."

Leah said nothing.

He sighed. "It's too sudden. She came back from that trip like someone had switched the script."

"And you think she was screwing him."

Leah didn't say it with malice. Just fact.

David winced.

"I don't know... and that's the problem. The signs were there before the Trip."

"But..."

"But..." Leah raised an eyebrow.

"But the signs are also the signs of a woman burning herself out, 14-hour days, constant travelling, single minded drive for promotion. If she was fucking to get promoted, then she wouldn't have worked so hard."

David was conflicted. "She wouldn't have been fucking him just to get some strange... that's not her."

"Whatever it was, loss of respect, burn out, fucking the dickhead. What happened at the Party or our huge fight the day after seems to have... reset things, like someone turned the lights on for her, like she woke up."

He ran a hand through his hair. "The worst part? I'll never know for sure. If she did it, she hid it well. And now... now it's like it never happened. And part of me thinks... fine. Let it stay dead. Because the woman I have now, this Anne... she loves me again."

"Look," she continued, "you don't have to answer. But, if she was... if she was... and she stopped, and she's back to you now, can you live with it?"

David went still. "Like, if a tree fell and no one saw it, did it fall"

The question hung between them like an unspoken curse.

He swallowed.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I think... maybe I can."

She looked at him gently. "Then maybe... that's your answer."

David nodded slowly.

"But the part that wonders..." He tapped his temple. "It never shuts up."

"That's grief," she said. "Not for a person, but for trust. You might never get it back the same way."

He blinked hard.

But he nodded.

And they sat in silence again.

Three weeks later

David sat in the driver's seat outside the OB-GYN's office; hand wrapped tightly around Anne's.

She was crying. Happy tears.

Twelve weeks. Healthy. Strong heartbeat.

He'd cried too. He wasn't ashamed.

When the doctor said "Dad, do you want to see?" he had nearly lost it.

Dad.

On the way home, Anne stared out the window, quiet.

He figured she was overwhelmed.

But that night, as he came up behind her in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her, he felt her flinch.

Just a little.

He let go slowly.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "Just tired."

That weekend

Leah came by with a bag of baby books and an eyebrow permanently raised.

After David carried them into the nursery that they'd just started painting, she pulled him aside.

"Not to be a buzzkill," she said. "But the timing is tight, isn't it?"

David blinked. "What?"

"The dates," she said carefully. "If she's twelve weeks now... that's right after she got back... or just before. Are you sure it adds up?"

He looked at her, the words like glass in his stomach.

"You think it's not mine."

"I'm just saying," she said gently. "If you're not 100% sure,... do you want to know?"

He sat down on the stairs, head in his hands.

"She told me it's mine."

Leah crouched beside him. "I love you. But don't lie to yourself just to avoid the pain. You deserve the truth."

He didn't respond.

He just sat there, mind racing.

That night, he asked Anne, point blank.

"Do the dates line up?"

She didn't flinch. She nodded immediately. "Yes. Of course they do."

But he saw it.

The second... less than a second... before she answered.

That moment of calculation.

He could have pressed.

He could have said, "Let's do a test. Just to be sure."

He didn't.

He kissed her forehead and said, "Okay."

Later, alone in the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror.

If it's not mine, he thought, I'll never recover.

But then he saw the sonogram pinned to the mirror.

A tiny flutter of life.

His or not, it didn't matter.

Because the woman in the other room was the one he loved.

And she had come back to him.

Maybe not perfect. Maybe not pure.

But back.

And that, for now, was enough.

Anne

Anne sat at her desk, staring at her work laptop screen.

Her inbox overflowed with congratulations:

Congratulations, VP! Well deserved.

Amazing close on Richardson!

She'd answered them all with smiley-faced professionalism.

But now, alone, she felt sick.

She laid her hand on her still-flat belly.

David's baby.

She said it in her head over and over.

David's baby.

But the dates were too close to call.

That last week on the island.

She tried to do the math again in her head.

Conception windows. Cycle days.

Too close.

Her stomach twisted.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She wanted it to be David's.

She believed it was.

They'd slept together the first night she got back, desperate, clinging to each other like they could glue the broken pieces back together.

But so had she and Jordan, on the island, two days before she left.

How did my birth control even fail?

She'd been meticulous.

Except for that week.

She'd forgotten pills in the chaos of travel and the stress of the pitch.

She remembered Jordan's shit-eating grin when she'd found the strip in her luggage with the missed days.

He'd said: "Guess you're really distracted, huh?"

He'd laughed.

She hadn't.

Now she was paying for it.

She rested her head on the desk.

Tears burned her eyes.

Please be David's. Please.

Jordan wasn't helping.

He kept dropping sly, infuriating hints in the weeks after she returned.

During Teams calls:

"Anne, you've got that glow. Must be all the fun we had on the island."

Or privately in her office:

"Congrats on the kid. You'll let me know if I should start saving for college, right?"

She'd seen red that day.

She slammed her office door behind him, voice shaking with rage.

"Say one more thing about this to me, to anyone, ever... and I'll fucking end you."

He smirked.

"Like you're going to tell HR about our little extracurriculars?"

She stepped into his space, jaw clenched.

"I'll tell your wife. I'll show her the hotel receipts. The text logs. The video you sent me. She'll take your kids, your house, your pension. Then I'll go to HR, and they'll take the rest"

He blanched.

For once, the smirk vanished.

"Jesus, Anne."

She jabbed a finger at his chest.

"Don't fucking test me, You piece of shit."

That afternoon she met with HR Director.

Calm. Professional.

"I've been thinking about the Asia-Pac Roll. I'd like to recommend Jordan for the international transfer. He's been talking about wanting broader experience. He's not ready to move up but he'd be perfect to move sideways into the Singapore Office.

She made sure it happened.

Three weeks later he was gone.

Out of her life.

But the fear wasn't.

At home, she tried to bury it.

David was radiant with joy.

He painted the nursery pale green.

He read baby books in bed and fell asleep snoring, open to chapters on sleep training and swaddling.

He'd press his ear to her stomach and talk to the baby.

Our baby.

She couldn't tell him.

She wouldn't.

Because she didn't know.

Because the truth would kill them both.

One night, lying on the couch, she felt the baby move for the first time.

She gasped.

David's head jerked up from her lap.

"What? What is it?"

She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the flutter.

He froze.

Eyes wide.

And then he laughed.

Full, raw, unguarded.

She started crying.

Ugly sobs she couldn't stop.

He didn't ask why.

He just held her and kissed her hair and said, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

She forced herself to believe it.

Delivery

She laboured for sixteen hours.

David never left her side.

When she screamed and cursed and told him to get the fuck away from her, he just squeezed her hand harder.

When she cried that she couldn't do it, he wiped her tears.

And when the baby finally came, squalling and pink, he broke down sobbing.

"It's a girl," the doctor said.

David kissed Anne's forehead, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You did it. She's perfect. You're amazing. I love you so much."

Anne held their daughter against her chest and felt like she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

Because in that moment, it didn't matter.

David was her father.

No matter what.

Later, exhausted, drifting in and out of sleep, she watched David in the corner of the hospital room.

He held their baby like she was made of glass.

"Welcome Catherine", he whispered to her.

Anne couldn't hear the words.

But she saw his face.

Pure, unfiltered love.

She's ours.

She's yours.

She's mine.

She made herself believe it.

And she made a promise.

No more lies.

No more secrets.

This is our family now.

Three months later

Anne sat on the porch swing, baby asleep in her arms.

David sat beside her, arm around her shoulders.

He pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered.

He snorted. "That's my line."

She laughed, breath hitching.

They sat in silence, watching the sun set behind the trees.

The baby snuffled in her sleep; tiny fingers curled around Anne's thumb.

David's other hand rested on the baby's back.

Protective.

Sure.

Home.

And for the first time in a long time, Anne let herself believe they were going to be okay.

Epilogue

Leah knelt by the fireplace, feeding the last of the papers in.

The envelope had no return address, but she'd known what it was the second she opened it.

Inside: two cotton swabs sealed in plastic, the sterile packaging now torn.

Five sheets of paper with the lab's logo.

Results.

Clear, clinical.

Undeniable.

She watched the edge catch fire.

The flames curled the pages into blackened ribbons.

She smiled, eyes reflecting the glow.

Behind her, her husband Dave cleared his throat.

"You coming? We're going to be late."

"Just a sec."

He eyed the fireplace. "Are you done with your... ritual?"

She snorted. "It's called cleaning up."

He walked over and kissed her on the head. "We need ice. Don't let me forget."

She stood, brushing off her knees.

"Right. Catherine's party wouldn't be complete without lukewarm juice boxes."

He chuckled, arm slinging around her shoulder as they walked out.

They stopped for ice on the way.

Then they drove to David and Anne's place.

The white bungalow looked festive, streamers fluttering in the early autumn breeze, balloons tied to the fence, a paper sign that read:

HAPPY 2ND BIRTHDAY CATHERINE!

She smiled again.

Good.

This is good.

David was on the porch, already waving when they pulled up.

He looked older than he had before Catherine was born.

But also, steadier.

Solid.

Anne came out behind him, holding Catherine on her hip.

The little girl squealed when she saw Leah, reaching out a chubby hand.

Leah's face split into a genuine grin.

She ran up the steps and held out her arms.

Looking at David she said, "I haven't had a cuddle from your daughter yet!"

Anne laughed, passing the toddler over.

David watched, arms folded, smiling in that quiet, grateful way he did these days.

Leah looked at him over the little girl's head. Catherine's eyes hadn't left David:

"Where is your Daddy?"

David's eyes softened.

Catherine reached out to him, "Daddy"

He reached out ruffling Catherine's hair.

"He's right here."

Catherine smiled, laying her face on Leah's chest her eyes still fixed on David.

Leah kissed her cheek, holding her tight.

Good.

All as it should be.

She glanced once, only once, at Anne.

Their eyes met.

Leah nodded and smiled.

Anne... started breathing again. She smiled back.

Leah's smile never wavered.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," she whispered to Catherine.

And carried her inside, where the party was just getting started.