PART 1

Julian and I had been married for two years. I was on maternity leave with our newborn daughter, Maya.

Julian never helped me, spending nearly all his time at work. His “late meetings” had become almost nightly.

One afternoon, I called to ask if he would be home for dinner.

“Probably not,” he snapped. “Can you stop checking up on me? I’m working.”

I swallowed the hurt.

“Okay. Love you.”

He didn’t answer.

I laid my phone beside Maya’s bottle, then noticed the call timer was still running.

I was about to end the call when I heard a strange sound — a woman’s laugh.

Then my husband spoke.

“She’s driving me insane. Texting pictures of the baby, asking when I’ll be home… I just want her to leave me alone.”

My fingers went numb.

The woman murmured something.

Julian laughed.

“Of course I hate her. I barely touch her anymore. Just wait. I’ll divorce her, and then I’ll marry you.”

A kiss sounded through the speaker.

I couldn’t move.

With my free hand, I quietly ended the call.

That evening, Julian arrived with grocery-store flowers and kissed my forehead.

“Missed my girls,” he said, smiling as if he hadn’t torn my life apart hours earlier.

I smiled back.

“We missed you, too.”

For six days, I said nothing. I watched Julian take his phone into the shower, change his passcode, and spray cologne before every “late shift.”

Meanwhile, I prepared our anniversary gift.

I had planned to celebrate our anniversary with just the three of us, but at the last minute, I changed my plans.

So on Sunday, I hosted dinner and invited both families. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, pumpkin pie — a normal, cozy American meal.

When the plates were cleared, I stood with my water glass.

“I want to give a toast,” I said.

Julian stiffened.

I looked right at him and smiled.

“My dear husband, Julian…” I cleared my throat.

PART 2: THE TOAST AND THE TAPE

The dining room went dead silent.

Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward me. Julian sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid, his fork hovering mid-air over his pumpkin pie. Beside him, his mother, Evelyn, smiled warmly, while my own parents leaned forward, expecting a sweet, sentimental declaration of love for our second anniversary.