My Husband Took His Mistress’ Hand While I Fell

I sat on the couch with a mug of tea going cold in my hands. The television played the New Year's Eve countdown from Times Square. People in heavy coats screamed and waved at the camera. Confetti fell like snow. I watched it alone.

Julian said he was at his mother's house. He said she wanted company for the ball drop. He said he'd be home late. I told him it was fine. I always told him it was fine.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my feed. Friends posted photos from parties. Couples kissed at midnight in blurry selfies. I liked a few without reading the captions. Then I stopped.

A street interview video. The thumbnail showed a crowd downtown. I almost scrolled past it. Then I saw his face.

Julian.

He stood under a string of lights outside a restaurant I recognized. He was laughing. Really laughing. The kind of open, easy laugh I hadn't heard from him in so long I'd forgotten what it sounded like. Next to him stood Natasha Franklin. Her arm looped through his. On his other side, her daughter Chana held his hand and grinned up at him like he'd hung the moon.

I turned up the volume.

The interviewer, a young woman with a microphone and a bright smile, asked, "Who are you celebrating with tonight?"

Julian looked at Natasha. Then at Chana. His expression went soft. "The two most important people in my life," he said.

I stopped breathing.

The interviewer laughed. "That's so sweet! Are you guys family?"

Julian hesitated. Just a second. Then he smiled again. "It's complicated," he said. "But yeah. They're my family."

Natasha looked down, her face the picture of shy grace. Chana squeezed his hand.

The interviewer leaned in. "Okay, I have to ask—there's clearly something here. What's the story?"

Julian's smile turned a little sheepish. A little proud. "I've had feelings for her for a long time," he said. He looked at Natasha when he said it. "I think everyone knew except me."

Natasha's hand went to her mouth. She shook her head like she was overwhelmed. The comment section below the video exploded with heart emojis.

I watched it again.

Then again.

Each time, the same sick drop in my stomach. The same heat crawling up my neck. The same cold, clear thought: *He lied.*

I set the mug down on the coffee table. My hands didn't shake. I stood up, grabbed my coat from the chair, and pulled it on over my sweatshirt and leggings. I didn't change. I didn't fix my hair. I picked up my keys and walked out the door.

The restaurant was twenty minutes away. I drove in silence. No music. No radio. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of my own breathing.

I parked across the street and looked through the window. There they were. Same booth as the video. Dessert plates on the table. Chana leaning against Julian's arm, half asleep. Natasha laughing at something he said.

I got out of the car and crossed the street. The cold bit through my coat. I pushed open the restaurant door.

The warmth inside hit me first. Then the noise. Laughter. Silverware on plates. A couple near the door turned to look at me. I walked past them.

Julian saw me when I was three tables away. His face went blank. Then tight.

I stopped at the edge of their booth. "Hi," I said.

Natasha's eyes went wide. She sat up straighter. Chana blinked awake and stared at me.

Julian didn't move. "Daisy," he said. His voice was flat. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw the video," I said.

His jaw clenched. "What video?"

I pulled out my phone and held it up. Hit play. The sound of his own voice filled the space between us. *I've had feelings for her for a long time.*

People at nearby tables stopped talking. I didn't care.

"You said you were at your mother's house," I said.

Julian's face flushed. "Daisy, don't do this here."

"How long?" I asked. My voice didn't shake. "How long has this been going on?"

Natasha made a small, wounded sound. She put her hand on her chest. "Daisy, I—I had no idea he said that. I didn't know—"

"Stop," I said. I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on Julian. "Answer me."

He stood up. His chair scraped against the floor. "You're being hysterical," he said. His voice was low and sharp. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"I'm embarrassing *myself*?" I repeated.

He grabbed my arm. Not hard. But firm. "Outside," he said. "Now."

I pulled my arm back. "Don't touch me."

He stepped closer. His voice dropped to a hiss. "You want to do this in front of everyone? Fine. Let's go outside and talk like adults."

I looked at Natasha. She had tears in her eyes. Perfect, glistening tears. Chana clung to her mother's side, staring at me like I was the villain.

I turned and walked toward the door. Julian followed.

The cold hit me again when I stepped outside. The sidewalk was slick. Ice in the cracks. My breath came out in clouds.

Julian shut the door behind us. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he said.