I Said Yes

by Kiersten Modglin

  “I don’t,” he said quickly, cutting me off. “My waistline thanks you for the changes you’ve made to my diet.” He patted his stomach, then kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight with you. I have so much to tell—” He stopped, his eyes locking on something across the room, and I felt my reclaimed happiness dissipating as I realized what it was.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked, staring at the suitcase in the corner.

  “I have to catch a flight at nine.”

  His face fell. “To where?”

  “Denver. It’s just two days. I’ll be home for the weekend.”

  “I thought you’d gotten the whole week off?” he asked.

  “I thought so too, but this meeting came up last minute and there were no other reps to take it. It’s a sale we really need.” When I could see he wasn’t cheering up, I went on. “Besides, you’re going to be at work all week, anyway. It’s not like me sitting at home is doing anyone any good.”

  “As opposed to you being on an airplane?”

  “As opposed to me making money,” I argued, poking his chest playfully. When he didn’t smile, I groaned. “Why are you making a big deal about this?”

  “Well, first of all, because you didn’t tell me.”

  “I just found out a few hours ago. I was going to tell you when you got home.”

  “And, second of all, because I thought you’d be home to hear about my new job. This is such a big step for me. It’s all we’ve worked for…” He trailed off, his eyes dancing between mine as he begged me to understand. I did understand. I knew what the day meant to him, but I had a job to do, too.

  “And I am here, Mark. I’m right here. I don’t have to leave for a few hours. You can tell me all about your day, we’ll have dinner, and then when I get home, we can go out for the weekend and really celebrate.”

  He nodded, but I could see his spirits were only partially lifted. “Whatever.” He pulled the undershirt over his head and grabbed the loose T-shirt he slept in from the end of the bed.

  “Don’t be angry,” I said. “I want to hear more about your new job.”

  He pulled on his pajama pants and took my hand, pulling me to his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. His kiss was slower and he seemed to have finally given up the last of his anger. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let me give you something to remember me by.”

  Chapter Eight

  Her

  I worked for another few months at my job before it became such an issue that I agreed to quit. By that time, Mark was making enough money for us to live on, and my traveling seemed to be causing the greatest rift in our marriage. It felt like the right thing to do. I won’t say I wasn’t bitter about it—I loved my job despite its many flaws—but I loved Mark more, and when I had to make the choice, there was no true competition.

  One day a few months after I’d begun staying at home full time, I was preparing a load of laundry. I grabbed handfuls of dirty clothes from the hamper in our bedroom and transferred them into the larger hamper from our laundry room. As I did, something purple fell from the pile of clothes, catching my eye.

  I stopped almost instantly, staring down to where the shiny object had fallen, knowing what it was without having to inspect it. I moved a pair of slacks that were blocking my view and, sure enough, there it was. The condom lay on the floor—it wasn’t completely unusual, it was the brand we used, but why had it been in with his dirty laundry? They had no reason to leave our bedroom.

  My first reaction wasn’t to accuse him of an affair. The first emotion I remember feeling was that of true confusion. How had it gotten there? I dug through the basket to no avail. There were no more waiting to be found. Next, I checked his underwear drawer where we always kept a box. It was there, right where it always was.

  I pulled the box out, counting the number of condoms we had left—six. When was the last time we’d replaced them? I couldn’t remember. Suddenly, my mind was filled with anger as the realization that this could point to an affair hit me. Was it possible? Could I picture Mark cheating? He’d been distant since starting his job, but our sex life was great. Aside from the usual things couples fought about, we had a good marriage. What reason could he have for straying?

  I pulled my phone from the pocket of my oversized sherpa cardigan and clicked on the green icon that would take me to my recent calls. His name was at the top of the list. I clicked on it, watching the screen turn dark as the line began to ring.

  I waited, chewing my lip and pacing the bedroom floor, my feet rubbing lines in the carpet.

  He answered on the third ring, and I felt an unfamiliar sting of tears fill my eyes at the sound of his voice. How could he betray me? How could he do it? “Hello?”

  “M-mark?” I asked.

  “Hannah?” He sounded distant. Distracted.

  I realized in that moment I had no plan of attack. I had no idea what I was going to say to him, though I was ready to give him a piece of my mind. I needed to be calm. Rational. I didn’t need to accuse him of anything until I had more proof. Thoughts plagued my mind—all the things I could say, all the things I shouldn’t. I knew Mark. I knew if I went in headfirst with accusations and questions, his wall would go up and I’d get nothing out of him. Instead, I had to play it smart, despite all the pain and emotion begging me not to. I wanted answers, but there was only one way to get them with him and this wasn’t it.

  “What is it?” he asked, obvious concern in his voice for the first time.

  “S-sorry. I just, um, I wondered what time you were planning to be home? I was thinking of running into town to see my mom, but I want to be home when you get here.”

  He mumbled something under his breath, and I heard his hand swish over the microphone as he said something indiscernible to someone in the background. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he said finally. “Go out with your friend or whatever. I’ll be at work late, anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes at the fact that he hadn’t even heard my request. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Was that it? Sorry, honey, I’m right in the middle of something.” His tone now lacked the concern he’d been showing before. He was back to work before I’d given him the okay.

  “Yeah, that was it. Sorry to bother you,” I muttered.

  “Talk to you soon, Han. Gotta go.” With that, the line went dead, and I was left alone, still holding the purple condom wrapper.

  I tossed the packet back in the drawer with disgust, not sure whether to be angry or proud of myself for not asking him about it. Finally, I strode past the hamper on my way out the door of the bedroom. I pulled up the banking app on my phone, scrolling through our latest transactions. It was something I rarely did—Mark handled the finances. I know it sounds old school, but it worked. I still had access to everything. My name was on every account, but he made sure the money was always there and I never had to question it. At least, I’d had no reason to question until now. Now, I had every reason to second guess our unspoken arrangement.

  I scrolled through the transactions, looking for anything unusual. Trips to the gas stations, lunches at local restaurants, bills being paid. Nothing screamed strange to me, not right out of the gate. I let out a breath. Okay. That was a good sign.

  The next step was to check his computer. I walked into the office across the hall from our bedroom. Truly, it was an extra bedroom, but with just the two of us, he’d managed to turn it into an office, and I hadn’t complained. Someday, I hoped it would be a nursery, and God knows what he would do with his monstrosity of a desk, but that was an argument for a different day.

  I opened the silver MacBook Air, typing in the password he used for all of his devices. The lock screen disappeared, allowing me access to a version of him I very rarely saw. The computer held the websites he visited when I was fast asleep, the apps he’d downloaded to entertain him when I couldn’t, and the music and podcasts he listened to with headphones on to shut me out. I’d always held a slight resentment toward his
computer—he spent far too much time furiously typing away on it with the rest of the world, me, shut out.

  That day, none of it mattered. I was thankful that I had a version of him tucked away for me to rifle through when things were bad. I had no idea how bad things were going to get.

  First, I checked his browsing history: Facebook, of course, a few legal forums, YouTube, and GoogleDocs. There was nothing suspicious—I’d have to dig deeper. I opened up his Facebook and checked his messages. Nothing out of the ordinary. Next, I pulled up GoogleDocs—what trouble could he really get into on YouTube?—and searched through legal documents he’d worked up. I shouldn’t have snooped. It was none of my business, and he’d made that clear. His clients had a right to privacy, even from me. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted to know the truth about my husband and about our marriage. Was it in jeopardy? If so, why?

  As I scrolled through the documents, one in particular caught my eye. It was labeled Untitled and the thumbnail showed it was shorter than the rest of the documents. I clicked to open it up and read through the brief letter. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, yet it was very obviously written to a specific person.

  I don’t know what you want from me, but what I can offer is money. A lot of it. If you will both agree to sign a non-disclosure, in perpetuity, then I will pay you whatever you’d like. Send your terms to moliver@LymanandAssociates.com by end of day Friday and we can discuss this.

  That was it. I read over it twice. Who could the letter be to, and what was it about? What great secret could he be withholding that he’d offer up our personal finances to keep it under wraps? It made no sense.

  Before I could stop myself, I clicked the printer icon in the top right corner and listened as the machine across the room fired up. I closed out of his computer and grabbed the paper as I hurried out of the room. I didn’t know what I’d uncovered—I had no idea what I was about to find, but I did know I’d found something and I wasn’t about to be the stupid, doting housewife who thinks her husband could do no wrong.

  If that was who he thought he’d married, he’d know soon enough how wrong he was.

  Chapter Nine

  Her

  I hid the letter in the bottom of my dresser drawer as I tried to come up with a plan. That night, when Mark arrived home from work, I put on a fake smile as I placed a plate in front of him. It was all I could do to bite my tongue, but it felt like the best plan at the time.

  Would things have been different if I’d confronted him right then?

  Would things have ended differently?

  If I’d done so, would I still be sitting in prison telling this story?

  I guess I’ll never know.

  Before we’d begun eating, he stood up and walked to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of wine, one I hadn’t noticed he’d stored in the back. “Did you have fun with your friend?” he asked, noticing me eyeing the bottle.

  “My mom,” I corrected.

  “Hmm?” He pulled a glass down from the cabinet and filled it quickly. “Do you want some?”

  “It was my mom that I was meeting. Anyway, I didn’t end up going. And…no. No, thank you.”

  He shrugged, shoving the cork back into the bottle, though we both knew he’d be back to finish it off before the meal ended. “Suit yourself.” It did no good to argue with him, try as I might. The sober man I’d married what seemed like just a few months before that was gone. The man that sat across from me now was practically a stranger.

  “How was your day?” I asked as he took the first sip. I wondered how much he’d already had to drink throughout the day. It wasn’t long ago that I took a swig of his water bottle only to discover it was vodka he was taking to work with him. It was rare that he came home to me without the taste of alcohol on his lips, though he showed no signs of being drunk until he’d had a few glasses of his drink of choice at home.

  “Fine,” he said, stabbing his fork into the plate of alfredo. “This looks great, babe.” He took a bite and nodded—to confirm, I supposed. “Actually, it was a shit day, if I’m being honest. My clients are,” he grimaced, his eyes going dark as he drifted off to think of them, “horrible people.”

  “Do you have to represent them?” I asked mindlessly, twirling my fork in the noodles. Truth be told, my mind was on the letter still, and I had no extra capacity to take in what he was saying.

  “’Course I do. Lyman doesn’t care about their character, he cares about their pockets. And their pockets run deep.” The wine glass was empty already, though I hadn’t been able to watch him drink most of it. “Something wrong?” he asked, one brow raised. It was almost a test. He thought the drinking was what was upsetting me, and he was waiting to see if I was going to say anything. As much as I wanted to, I knew it would do no good. Financially, working at Lyman and Associates was the best thing that could’ve happened to us. In every other aspect of our lives, it ruined us. He’d taken his first drink in years on his first day and never looked back. Still, I couldn’t let him believe any different. Not if my plan was going to work. He had to think I was only upset about his drinking.

  “Sorry, no. I just…I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m going to go to bed.” I pushed the untouched plate of food away from me.

  “You’ve hardly eaten any of your food. Even your salad. You aren’t getting a bug, are you?”

  “I hope not,” I said, holding my stomach instinctively. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he said, taking hold of my arm as I moved to pass him. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Mhm,” I said with a quick nod, hardly able to meet his eyes.

  “Is this about the wine?” he pressed.

  “No, honestly. I just…I’m not feeling well.”

  “You know I’m not going to let it control me,” he assured me. It was a false promise if I’d ever heard one, but I couldn’t argue. “It’s different than before.”

  Again, I nodded, pulling my arm from his grasp. “I know. It’s not that, honest.”

  “Okay,” he said finally. “Just one glass tonight, I promise.” He stood, kissing my forehead. “Can’t afford to catch it,” he explained. “Are you okay if I stay down here and work for a bit?”

  “Yes,” I said, secretly relieved. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep quiet around him as my body remained on edge and ready to attack. Every time I’d stabbed my fork into my kale, I’d done so with a little extra force just to relieve the tension within myself. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He squeezed my hand and, for just a second, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with. There was a kindness in his eyes that took me back to the early days of our relationship where there was only happiness and the cracks hadn’t begun to show. Now, there seemed to be only cracks.

  Chapter Ten

  Her

  I felt his lips brush my head, heard him telling me that he was leaving and that he’d see me later, but my eyes would barely open. It was as if saying I was sick had caused my immune system to get on board.

  When I heard the bedroom door open and shut again, I opened my eyes. The clock on the nightstand showed that it was just past six. I sat up in bed and shook the covers off my legs, looking around. I searched my brain for memories from the day before—had it all been real? Was I really going to go through with the plan?

  The sound of his car’s engine starting up rang through the cracked window to my left, and I went into action. I pulled the ponytail holder from my wrist and tied my hair up into a quick, messy bun, glancing in the mirror just briefly enough to wipe the dark makeup from under my eyes. Next, I threw on a pair of jeans from the hamper I’d discarded the day before and a clean t-shirt from my drawer. I swiped on fresh deodorant and pushed a piece of mint gum in my mouth. It would have to do—I didn’t have much time.

  I pulled on sneakers as I rushed down the stairs and grabbed my purse and keys before I rushed out the door and into the garage. It was only a one-car, so we parked mine inside and kept h
is on the outside. He claimed it was because he wanted to be chivalrous, but I always suspected he didn’t like the idea of my trusty Hyundai being parked on the curb where the neighbors couldn’t get a good look at his Lexus. I climbed into the front seat and pushed the button to open the garage door, the sunshine reflecting in my rearview mirror and causing me to squint until I could locate my sunglasses.

  I never thought I’d be the type of wife to trail my husband around, keeping track of his whereabouts. I’m not jealous, and I’m by no means a worrier, but something in the pit of my stomach was screaming something wasn’t right. I had to trust that.

  I turned out of our subdivision a few minutes later and hit the highway. I knew his route to work, so he should’ve only been a bit ahead of me. I weaved in between cars, trying to get an eye on him. For a moment, I worried I’d missed him, or that he’d chosen a different route. If that was the case, all of my planning would’ve been for nothing.

  Luckily, as I reached a stoplight, I caught a glimpse of him about six cars ahead in the lane to my right. I felt my shoulders relax slightly. So far, so good. Now to just make sure I wasn’t caught.

  I kept my distance behind Mark as we drove through midtown traffic and headed for his office building. Luckily, his office downtown meant there’d be plenty of parking options and plenty of places to stay hidden. He pulled into the parking garage that we paid a small fortune per month for him to use, and his car disappeared. I turned left at the next street and pulled into a nearly full parking lot, advertising a rate of just seven dollars for the full day—thank God it was a weekday or the price would be triple that. I pulled cash from my pocket and fed it into the machine, fighting with a few stubborn bills. When the gate’s arm lifted to allow me passage, I sped through and pulled into the last remaining spot on the edge of the lot, giving me an only partially obstructed view of the office building.