"Sweetie, I think you might be remembering wrong. Your grandma loved chrysanthemums when she was alive."

I remembered it clearly. My mother-in-law's favorite flower had always been chrysanthemums.

The very first time I met her, she'd taken me by the hand and led me out to the balcony to show off every variety she'd planted there. Her face had lit up as she told me each one was her treasure.

But the little boy shook his head with absolute certainty.

"My daddy said Grandma hated chrysanthemums. She thought they were bad luck because people only give them to dead people."

"Daddy told us we could only bring lilies to Grandma's grave. No other flowers allowed."

How was that possible?

My mother-in-law used to say that chrysanthemums were the noblest of flowers, blooming defiantly through frost and snow, full of dignity and backbone.

She'd even used a chrysanthemum as her profile picture.

Roy knew that better than anyone.

He would never have said something like that.

Unless this was a different person entirely?

I turned to Iris, choosing my words carefully.

"Could I see a photo of your husband and your mother-in-law?"

Iris blinked, seeming caught off guard by the request.

But she nodded politely, pulled her phone from her bag, and began scrolling.

"She passed so early that I never met her in person. I only have a few photos my husband sent me."

She talked as she scrolled, then held out the screen to show me a photo of an elderly woman.

In the picture, the woman wore a red coat, seated upright in a chair with a warm, gentle smile.

It was her. It was definitely my mother-in-law.

And I was the one who had taken that photo.

It was from Roy's and my engagement party.

Not long after I'd snapped it, she passed away. She never even made it to our wedding.

Iris swiped to the next image, pulling up a group photo.

"This is my husband with me and our son."

My heart lurched the moment I saw it.

It was Roy. My husband, Roy James.

He was wearing the blue button-down I'd given him, one arm around Iris, the other cradling the child. All three of them beaming, the picture of a happy family.

While I stood there staring at the photo, the little boy puffed out his chest proudly. "My daddy's a real hero, you know."

"See that scar on his hand? He got it saving someone's life. It took more than a dozen stitches!"

My gaze dropped to the unmistakable scar on the man's wrist, and a sharp ache pierced through me.

Of course I knew where that scar came from.

Five years ago, we'd gone to the beach on vacation. A wave caught me and dragged me under. He didn't hesitate for a second before diving in after me.

The rocks beneath the surface were razor-sharp. One sliced his wrist wide open, blood pouring out, staining the water red around us.

But he didn't care about the pain. He held on to me with everything he had, refusing to let go, nearly getting swept away himself.

Later, at the hospital, I'd cried the entire time they stitched him up. I even looked into finding the best surgeon to remove the scar.

He just shook his head and smiled.

"You're ridiculous. This scar is a symbol of our love. I'm keeping it."

"Every time I see it, it'll remind me how close I came to losing the most important person in my life. It'll remind me to never take you for granted."

And now, those same hands that were supposed to symbolize his love for me were wrapped around another woman, in another family's portrait.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and handed the phone back to Iris.

Then I looked at the little boy standing before me, the one who looked so much like Roy, and asked, "How old are you, sweetie?"

He tilted his head up and held out four fingers. "I'm four!"

Four years old?

That was impossible.

I stared at Iris, unable to hide my disbelief. "Your son is really four?"

Iris gave me an odd look, then nodded.

"Yes. He was born four years ago, in May."

"What's wrong?"

Something wasn't right.

Roy had gotten a permanent vasectomy five years ago.

Five years ago, I'd been pregnant.

But when I was seven months along, Roy left an important document at home. I was on my way to bring it to him when a car that had lost control slammed into me.

I hemorrhaged on the spot and blacked out.

When I woke up, the doctor told me the baby was gone. My uterus had been severely damaged and had to be removed. I would never be able to have children again.

I was devastated. I cried the entire night in that hospital bed, and then I asked Roy for a divorce.

His family had been an only-child lineage for generations. I didn't want the James bloodline to end with me.

But Roy held me tight, refusing to let go, and said with absolute conviction:

"I would rather never have children than lose you."

I thought he was just saying it to comfort me.

But that same day, he went and got a vasectomy.

I would never forget the look on his face when he came off the operating table, completely sincere:

"See? Now I can't have children either."

"Don't you ever try to push me away again."

I'd been so moved I could barely breathe. I held onto him and cried for what felt like hours.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

The little boy's voice pulled me back to the present.

I looked down at him. Those brows. Those features. They were identical to Roy's.

Anyone with eyes could see it. He was Roy's biological son.

But if Roy had gotten a permanent vasectomy five years ago, where had this four-year-old come from?

Had Roy lied to me?

No. I remembered. I'd tried to talk him out of it, told him not to be impulsive.

The doctor had even explained that there were two types of vasectomies. One was reversible. If you wanted children later, a second procedure could restore fertility.

The other was permanent. Once it was done, there was no going back.

Roy had insisted on the permanent one. He wanted to prove his commitment, and nothing I said could change his mind.

He'd even let me watch the entire procedure.

There was no way it had been faked.

So what didn't add up?

"You look terrible. Are you feeling alright?"

Iris was watching me with concern, worry pooling in her eyes.

I shook my head and brushed it off. "I'm fine."

"Probably just hungry. Low blood sugar."

The moment she heard that, Iris dug through her bag and pulled out a chocolate bar.

"My son gets low blood sugar all the time, so I always keep candy on me."

"Here, eat this. It'll help."

I took the chocolate, instinctively about to thank her, when my gaze snagged on something inside her open bag.

"Is that... a marriage certificate?"

Iris followed my line of sight and smiled, pulling it out.

"It is! My husband and I got it five years ago."

"He was so silly that day. After we got our license, he was so excited he picked me up and spun me around right there in the clerk's office. He even tripped and fell."

She opened the certificate and held it out to me.

In the photo, Roy was wearing a white dress shirt, beaming with pure happiness.

The date in the bottom right corner was perfectly clear. Five years ago.

But I had already been legally married to Roy for a year by then.

How could he have gone to get a marriage license with someone else while he was still married to me?

What was going on?

"Oh, by the way, we've been chatting all this time and I still don't know your name."

While my mind was still reeling, Iris smiled and asked.

I looked into her earnest eyes, hesitated for just a second, and said it plainly:

"My name is Virginia Simmons."

The moment she heard my name, Iris froze. The smile on her face turned to stone.

In that moment, Iris's expression was impossibly complex.

Surprise. Sympathy. And a flicker of something harder to name—excitement, almost.

She masked it quickly, but not quickly enough. I saw it all.

I didn't understand why she'd react that way, and the question left my lips before I could stop it.

"Do you know me?"

Iris didn't answer.

She lowered her head, stuffed the marriage certificate back into her bag, and grabbed the little boy's hand.

"Tommy, it's time to go."

The boy looked confused. "But Mommy, we haven't finished burning the paper for Grandma..."

"Next time," Iris said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

And just like that, she took the child and walked away without looking back.

Leaving me standing there alone.

From the way Iris had reacted, I was certain she knew who I was.

But why had hearing my name triggered that expression?

And Roy—how had he married me, legally, with a certificate, and then gone to another courthouse and done the same thing with someone else?

How had he fathered a four-year-old son when he'd had a permanent vasectomy?

How had he juggled two families for eleven years without a single crack in the facade?

How much had he been hiding from me?

What haunted me most was that last look on Iris's face.

What was she sympathizing with?

And what was she excited about?

Babe, come to The Grandview Hotel, private room 999. I need to talk to you.

The message from Roy arrived while my thoughts were still spiraling.

I stared at my phone for a beat, then typed back a quick Okay.

I drove there as fast as I could.

All I wanted was to look Roy in the eye and demand answers.

When I reached the private room, I pushed the door open.

Pop!

Confetti exploded in my face, and I flinched.

I looked up. The room was packed with people.

My parents. My friends. Roy's relatives.

The next second, Roy walked toward me carrying an enormous cake, candles flickering on top, his steps slow and deliberate.

"Happy birthday, babe!"

He smiled at me, his gaze soft, his voice dripping with affection.

The same look he'd worn for the past eleven years. As if I were the only woman in the world.

While I stood frozen, my mother came over and took my hand.

"Sweetheart, it's the twenty-eighth already—your birthday! Don't tell me you forgot?"

"Good thing Roy remembered. He's been planning this for a whole month."

My girlfriends chimed in. "Seriously, I'm so jealous. You married the perfect man."

"He called us a month in advance just to make sure we'd be here to celebrate with you."

"Look at all these flowers and balloons. He set up every single one himself."

Roy's relatives joined the chorus.

"Virginia, you really hit the jackpot. Men as faithful and devoted as Roy are rare these days."

"You'd better hold on tight to him."

Faithful and devoted.

Before I met Iris, I would have agreed without hesitation. I'd believed Roy was the best man alive.

But now, standing in this room full of streamers and smiling faces, all I felt was the sheer absurdity of it.

Especially from Roy's relatives.

They knew Iris.

They had seen that child.

Yet here they stood, looking me in the eye, praising Roy's devotion, telling me how lucky I was.

Watching their warm, earnest smiles, I couldn't tell anymore—were they incredible actors, or did they genuinely believe every word they were saying?

I looked at Roy. "You skipped visiting the cemetery today just so you could secretly plan a birthday party for me?"

Roy nodded. "Of course. What could possibly be more important than your birthday?"

He held out a wrapped box.

"Babe, I've been working on this gift for a long time."

"Go on, open it."

His eyes glimmered with anticipation.

Friends and family around the room chimed in with warm laughter:

"Open it! Roy put so much thought into this."

"Trust us, you're going to love it."

I looked at the box in front of me.

It was small, perfectly square, wrapped with care.

Every person in the room watched me, waiting to see my face light up with surprise and gratitude.

I took the box and slowly peeled back the wrapping.

When I saw what was inside, the air left my lungs.

Everything clicked into place.

So that's what this was.

That's what all of this was.

The realization hit me like a freight train, and I couldn't help it. I laughed.

The whole room laughed with me, assuming I was moved to tears.

But then I picked up the dinner knife from the table and drove it straight into Roy's chest.