Instead, I smiled for photographs while an uneasy feeling settled deep inside my stomach.
Throughout dinner, Robert barely touched his food.
His phone buzzed twice, and both times he silenced it immediately without checking the screen.
When my sister teased him, saying she never imagined he’d splurge on such an expensive gift, Robert forced a smile.
“Neither did I.”
It should have sounded sweet.
Instead, something about it felt painfully wrong.
After our guests finally left, I carried the handbag into the kitchen.
Robert stood silently at the sink, staring into the dark reflection of the window.
I reached into the hidden pocket and unfolded the paper.
There was no message.
No name.
Only a phone number written carefully in blue ink.
The moment Robert saw it, every trace of color drained from his face.
“Where did you get that?” I asked quietly.
His throat tightened.
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