My Wife’s Last Mistake

The contact name read "My Owen."

My breath caught. A dull ringing filled my ears, and for a moment, everything around me felt distant and unreal.

Before I could stop myself, my thumb was already moving across the screen.

I couldn't tell whether Adeline Hemsley was overly confident or simply trusted me that much.

The phone wasn't password-protected.

I opened the chat. The earliest message was from August three years ago.

[Ms. Hemsley, I've updated the proposal. Just sent it to your email.]

Back then, I was beside her through the hardest years of building the company from the ground up. She always told me she had clients to entertain and business dinners that ran late, so coming home after midnight became normal.

Adeline said the company was at a critical stage, and that sometimes she had to sleep at the office.

Last Valentine's Day, she sent me 100 dollars.

[Thanks for everything, honey.]

At that exact same time, she was texting someone else.

Owen Wakefield sent a voice message. "Everyone else gets flowers for Valentine's Day. I'm still waiting on my gift!"

She sent him 3,000.

"Thanks! Love you!"

She replied, "Love you too. Same place tonight?"

That night, Adeline came home at 3 a.m. with the smell of alcohol lingering on her clothes.

She leaned against me and said, "I'm doing this for our family. No matter how exhausted I get, I have to keep pushing."

On my birthday, she gave me a watch worth a few hundred bucks and said with a smile, "Thanks for everything, honey. I'll get you an even better one next year."

At that exact same moment, she transferred 2,000 to Owen.

His reply came almost immediately. "Thanks, babe. Bet your husband doesn't get this kind of treatment."

"Of course. That old man could never compare to you."

Old man.

Two little words, and they cut deep enough to make my eyes sting.

Cole Thompson sat nearby, humming to himself as he pushed a toy car across the floor. Sunlight spilled through the window and settled over his soft hair, turning it a warm shade of gold.

My son was three years old.

And my wife's lover had been in her life for three years.

I kept scrolling.

The last message was from yesterday.

[Babe, can we finally make it official that day?]

Something crumbled inside me.

Make what official?

Was she planning to ask me for a divorce?

The lock turned.

Adeline pushed the door open and stepped inside, her eyes sweeping across the living room.

"I left my black phone at home. Have you seen it?"

"Cole found it." I walked over and held out the phone. "Can't believe you'd forget something that important."

She snatched it from my hand, quickly turned off the screen, and slipped it into the inside pocket of her blazer.

The entire exchange lasted less than three seconds.

"I've got too much on my mind today." She cleared her throat. "There's so much to handle with the annual gala."

"Then you'd better get going."

She paused, then reached out and rubbed my cheek. "I've got business dinners tonight, so don't wait up for me."

The door closed behind her.

I leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. The pointed towers of the Lego castle blurred and warped before my eyes.

At that moment, I understood clearly: some roads were meant to be walked alone.

And the first step was learning not to tremble.

A week later, I sat down beside Adeline with the household ledger in my hands.