After my wife’s miscarriage, I thought we’d try again—have another child.

But she wasn’t ready. The grief of losing our baby still haunted her.

And so, for a year, we didn't touch each other.

I kept waiting—until one day, I picked up her phone, accidentally tapped a chathead, and saw her affair with another guy.

[C’mon, it’s Valentine’s Day! Can’t you spend a special day like this with me? Don’t let him touch you tonight.]

[I even got rid of his baby for you. What more do you need to feel secure? I already bought a new set of lingerie. It should’ve arrived at your place. I’ll wear it for you tomorrow.]

——

That new lingerie… It was sitting on our bed right in front of me.

Just a few minutes ago, I smiled, thinking, ‘Maybe this is it. She’s surprising me for Valentine’s Day!’

When I unboxed it, I thought, ‘Did the store send the wrong package?’

But it wasn’t the store. It was my wife. She’d sent this black lacy lingerie to the wrong address.

I tapped into the Facebook profile of the guy who was supposed to receive the package.

His latest video showed a trip to a hot spring resort.

Ivory was there, in a revealing red swimsuit I’d never seen her before. She was shyly smiling at the camera like she was twenty and in love again.

At the end of the video, the guy reached out, took my wife’s hand, and kissed the back of it.

And on her finger—where her wedding ring should’ve been—was nothing but a pinkish circle mark.

I didn’t realize I was clutching my own ring until my fingers ached.

I scrolled down to see that he had posted another photo—this time showing off a graphics card gamers dream about. A GeForce RTX 4090.

The caption read: [How’d you know my wife got me a 4090?]

Something twisted in my gut; I opened Ivory's Amazon account.

I opened her conversation with a seller. [I don’t know much about graphics cards. Just recommend the best one. It’s Children’s Day—I want to get something nice for my husband.]

The rep suggested a 4090 and added: [Your husband’s one lucky guy!]

Trying to ignore the sting in my chest, I checked her order history.

There it was—the GPU, swimsuits, men’s watches, cologne, even some… sex toys with names I didn’t want to read twice.

They were all shipped to the same apartment complex in South Salt Lake City in Utah.

Same recipient: Dimon Cavanagh.

I closed my eyes and steadied my breath.

Then I went back to their chat and hit “Record.” I wanted to save proof of their affair, every dirty bit of it.

It wasn’t long. It was mostly her arranging to meet him, or him asking when she’d come over. A few crude flirtations scattered in between.

That version of Ivory... That felt like a stranger to me.

In less than ten seconds, I had already airdropped the screen recording file to me, clicked on the Photos app on her phone to delete the recording even on the Recently Deleted folder.

Just as the bathroom door handle turned, I placed her phone back in the nightstand.

Ivory walked out. Her wet hair hung loose over her pale shoulders. The towel clung to her curves.

When she saw the lingerie on our bed, she paused for a moment.

“Oh,” she said. “What a careless mistake! I ordered the simple one, not… that. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“I already opened it,” I said. “I washed it, too, for you. Can’t be returned now, right?”

She blinked in annoyance. “You’re fast. Well… guess I’ll ask for a refund. That’s a bit embarrassing.”

I smiled and reached for her hair. “Or you could just wear it tonight.”

She pulled away. “Don’t mess around. I’m really not in the mood.”

My smile froze. My eyes darkened.

She noticed and quickly took my hand, pressing it to her lower belly.

“Usher, don’t overthink. I just… still haven’t moved on from losing Copper.”

Copper.

The name we gave our baby—the one we never got to meet.

I thought about the messages I’d just read and clenched my hand.

My voice came out low. “Honey, did the doctor ever say what caused the miscarriage?”

I was on a business trip when it happened. By the time I got home, the procedure was already done.

She looked away. “They said it might’ve been placental issues… Usher, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She gave me a soft smile. “We’ll still have a baby someday. I promise.”

“It’s been a year, Ivory. We haven’t touched each other in a year.”

“Just give me a little more time. I’ll get there. Or we could… try IVF. I’ve been researching. It’s safer for the baby. We can even choose the timing, the number, the gender.”

I knew she’d say no, but still—I couldn’t help feeling bitter.

She would rather inject herself with hormones and go through hell than sleep with me.

I nodded. “Alright. We’ll see then.”

Then I grabbed my keys.

“I’m gonna smoke downstairs. I’ll bring you snacks when I come back.”

But I didn’t go to the pantry. I went to the underground garage.

And I hid a voice recorder in her car.

Ivory fell asleep holding my hand.

At some point, I gently turned over and slid my hand out of hers, careful not to wake her.

I don’t know how much time passed before her phone buzzed sharply in the dark.

The ringtone barely lasted a second before she silenced it.

“Usher…” she whispered.

I kept my eyes closed and didn’t answer, so she gave me a gentle nudge.

“Something urgent came up at work. I need to head over for a bit. If everything goes well, I’ll be back by morning.”

I opened my eyes halfway, feigning grogginess. “I’ll drive you.”

She smiled and brushed me off. “No need. I’m picking up Shawna from Product Dev on the way. I’ll text you when I get there.”

She kissed me quickly, then slipped out of the room.

A minute later, I heard the front door close.

I got dressed in the dark, grabbed a hoodie, and called a cab.

When the driver asked where to, I gave him the address I’d memorized from her Amazon account.

“North Gate of Longview Park Apartments, Building 6.”

In the backseat, I opened TikTok and searched the guy’s handle.

[@SorryForCrashingIntoYourHeart]

Ivory had changed hers not long ago to [@AllIWantIsU].

She told me the “U” was for me—Usher.

Another lie.

This guy posted constantly—nights out, gaming clips, new sneakers, gym selfies. Multiple times a day.

But he never showed his face. Every selfie had his phone covering it.

I tapped into one of his clips—a match summary from League.

His username popped up. [BurnBoy]

Suddenly it clicked.

A while back, I asked Ivory if I could join her game one night. She reluctantly agreed.

BurnOne was on our team. I played support; he was ADC.

Right at the start, he typed in all caps:

[SUPPORT STAY OUT OF MY LANE. YOU’RE ANNOYING!]

Minutes later, he was almost dead. I rushed in, stunned the enemy, and healed him.

He didn’t say thanks.

Instead, he ran into the opponent’s tower and let himself die. On purpose.

[You got a tumor on your brain or something?] he typed. [I told you not to fucking heal me! The fuck’s so hard to understand ‘bout that?!]

I was completely lost. I asked Ivory if the guy was seriously unhinged.

She laughed it off. “That’s just how he is. He’s got a bad temper and talks like that to everyone, not just you. Don’t take it personally. If it bothers you, I won’t pull you guys into the same match again.”

So I was just a prop in their little game.

The driver sped through the streets. By the time it pulled up, Ivory’s car hadn’t shown up yet.

The sky was thick with storm clouds. Thunder rumbled, and soon, huge raindrops came crashing down.

I ducked into the vestibule of a 24-hour ATM to wait.

Just then, my phone lit up. It was her.

“Usher, are you awake?”

“How’d you know?”

“The thunder was so loud. I figured you’d be up.” Her voice was soft and comforting. “I checked the weather before I left and unplugged everything except the fridge. Don’t worry. Just try to get some sleep.”

When I was a kid, lightning struck our house and started a fire. My mom and my stepdad managed to save my little brother—and his favorite toy. But they forgot about me. Since then, thunderstorms have messed with my head.

Over the years, Ivory climbed her way from an entry-level employee to tech director. But every time it stormed, she tried to be there for me.

She even once ditched a business dinner halfway just to come home and stay with me.

‘Maybe I’m overthinking things,’ I began to think. ‘Maybe she really is going to the office.’

But then I saw a familiar SUV pulled up, its hazard lights blinking.

A guy stepped out of the building’s entrance, one hand holding an umbrella, the other carrying something in a paper bag, and walked out through the gate of the complex.

He stopped for a second by Ivory’s car, near the front passenger window. But instead of opening that door, he got into the back seat.

A few moments later, Ivory got out of the driver’s seat, opened the rear door, and got in too.

The storm raged. The windows fogged. Neither of them got back out.

The SUV stayed there, unmoving, shrouded in rain.

And I stood in the glow of the ATM screen, just… watching.

Her car’s tail lights finally disappeared into the night, and the guy never once got out.

Ivory came home just after dawn.

“Belated Valentine’s,” she said.

I stared at the water droplets on the petals, then at the card tucked between them. A memory flashed—the guy I saw walking out of the apartment complex yesterday. He was holding flowers.

Roses.

“Didn’t sleep all night?” I asked.

“Too much stuff to revise, no time for sleep.” She rubbed her temples and gave me a tired smile.

“Pack up, we’ve got to head to the train station. After breakfast, you should get some rest too—those dark circles are showing.”

“Put the roses in a glass vase or something, I don’t have time to do that.”

She ordered a rideshare, and when she left, I went downstairs to pick up my voice recorder—and tossed the roses in the trash on the way.

A cleaning lady fished them out and called after me, “They’re still so fresh. You sure you don’t want them?”

I turned and saw her holding the bouquet in one hand, the card in the other.

It read [I’ll love you forever].

I smiled faintly. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Back upstairs, I clicked play.

Ivory’s voice filled the room; she called her other guy.

“Wait for me at the front entrance.”

Later, she asked, “You miss me?”

She had it on speaker. I heard the guy chuckle softly.

“What, you don’t miss me?” she teased. “Should I just go back and keep Usher company instead?”

“Don’t you dare,” the man warned quickly.

Ivory let out a playful huff.

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other today?” he asked. “Why the sudden change?”

“It’s Valentine’s. I couldn’t stand the idea of you spending it alone.”

The guy sounded touched.

“Baby, drive safe. I’m coming down now—I’ll bring you the flowers I got.”

“You got me flowers? I didn’t even tell you I was coming.”

“I was betting you wouldn’t be able to resist coming. Guess I was right, huh?”

Ivory laughed, clearly happy.

“I’m almost there. It’s raining. Grab an umbrella.”

A few minutes later, there was the sound of knocking on a car window.

“Get in from the back,” Ivory said.

The guy got in.

“Man, I still don’t get to sit up front, huh?” he joked, chuckling at himself.

“Usher’s got friends in traffic enforcement. Better safe than sorry,” she explained.

“So we’re still keeping secrets from him.”

“Oh, come on, Dimon, you’re not a kid. Don’t act so jealous.”

My mind went blank.

I knew that guy.

When Ivory and I first started dating, she’d casually told me she had an old flame—some doomed, mismatched relationship from back in the day.

A notorious rich-kid troublemaker from college.

Dimon Cavanagh.

Reckless, arrogant, immature. He broke her heart.

Later, his family went bankrupt, and he came crawling back. But by then, she said, she was already over him.

‘So when did Dimon show up again? How long has Ivory been lying to me?’

My head was a mess, but the recorder kept playing.

Dimon’s voice came through again, low and suggestive.

“You owe me for tonight.”

“Oh god, what now?”

Then—soft rustling. Hands brushing against fabric.

“Come here.”

“Are you crazy? We’re parked right outside the building!” Ivory whispered.

“Come on.”

“Fine! God… You’re impossible.”

She sighed and climbed into the backseat.

In the middle of it all, I heard him ask, “Do you love me, Ivory?”

“If I didn’t, why would I sneak out in the middle of the night to see you?”

“I love you too. Have a baby with me. Then nothing else will matter.”

“You always say that, but it never happens.”

“You know I can.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I sat in the living room, listening to that recording over and over.

The recorder had run out of battery a long time ago, but I kept pressing the button anyway.

The soft, mechanical tick, barely louder than my breath, sounded again and again… all the way until night fell.