Chapter 4: The Birthday That Wasn't

That day, I got home very late.

When I pulled up out front, I saw Emily bundled up, standing in the snow, looking around. She always hated the cold, but she stood there anyway, stomping her boots, scanning the street for my headlights.

When she saw me, she let out a long sigh of relief, then staggered over, grinning.

“Mike Thompson. If you hadn’t shown up soon, you’d have come home to an ice sculpture for a wife.”

I have a lot of work dinners and get-togethers, so she never asks where I go. She took off her scarf and wrapped it around my neck, smiling. “Since you came home safe and sound through the snow, I won’t mind that you didn’t answer my call.”

That night, the cold covered up my stiff expression and awkward movements. Underneath, I felt my chest tighten with guilt and relief all at once. I wanted to say something, to confess or apologize, but the words stuck. Was I angry at myself for what I’d done, or just numb? I didn’t know. I just felt small in her arms.

……

I quickly adapted to this new arrangement in my life.

Rachel’s schedule is flexible, and I’m often out checking stores in the afternoons, so I’m not always at the office.

We had plenty of time and places for our rendezvous.

Even after everything, Rachel still kept her pride in front of me—or maybe she just knew that it was this very pride that I was obsessed with.

It reminded me of the past.

Chris is my brother, and he was our classmate back then, too.

He doesn’t get it.

“Rachel used to be amazing, but now she can’t compare to your wife.”

He doesn’t understand.

There’s a saying: people are forever trapped by what they couldn’t have in their youth.

Rachel was the one I could never reach. Now, somehow, she needed me—and I didn’t know if that made me proud or just hollow.

Every time we were together, it gave me immense satisfaction.

She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel humiliated.

So I found all kinds of ways to help her out.

Like introducing friends to buy insurance from her. Or topping up store credits using her phone number. Or giving her gifts from clients. Whatever it was.

Rachel’s presence was proof of how successful and glamorous my life is now. I told myself I was just being kind, but part of me knew it was more than that—a trophy from a life I used to dream about.

I never thought about getting a divorce.

Emily and I are well matched—loving husband and wife, a picture-perfect family. Our Instagram feed full of vacation selfies, Jamie’s school plays, sunsets at the lake.

She’s cheerful and easily content. With her, I feel relaxed, confident, and full of energy.

Besides, I promised her mom on her deathbed that I’d love her and treat her well for life.

I think I’ve done a pretty good job these past few years.

As for the harm my cheating might cause her?

I’ve thought it through.

She’d only be hurt if she found out. Only then would it be real harm.

But if she never knows?

Nothing would change at all.

On the contrary, out of guilt, I’m even more attentive to her needs, both material and emotional. That’s exactly how it is.

My relationship with Emily now is even better than before. Or so I convinced myself, every time I walked through our front door.

Every year on my birthday, Emily takes the day off just for me.

She starts early, heading to the seafood market across town to pick out the freshest ingredients. She washes, chops, stews, fries—busy all day, just to make me a feast for when I get home.

And I finish work early, rush home, and together we finish the chores, chat, and eat.

But this year, Rachel called me.

She asked, “Can I celebrate your birthday with you?”

I hesitated for two seconds, then agreed.

In the past six months, Rachel really meant what she said—never making any demands. After every time we slept together, she’d carefully check to make sure nothing was out of place.

I figured she must be feeling lonely.

It’s understandable.

I’m with Emily every day. We have all the days and nights ahead of us—plenty more birthdays to celebrate. Missing one wouldn’t matter.

I called Emily and told her I had a banquet with city officials that night, so I’d be home late.

Amid the sizzle of oil and the smell of seafood, she asked, “Hmm, what time do you think you’ll be back?”

I said, “Around seven.”

“Okay.”

I figured seven o’clock would be about right.

But as soon as I stepped into Rachel’s rented apartment that day, she kissed me—fierce and hungry.

She’d sent Danny to a friend’s house and was wearing a sheer, seductive dress.

She was bold, wild.

In bed, she seemed like she wanted to devour me, trying every way, again and again.

I blacked out, then came to and checked my phone.

It was already eleven.

I panicked, hurried to get dressed.

Rachel suddenly pounced, gently bit my shoulder, then her eyes reddened and she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you so long today.”

Seeing her like that, I felt another wave of guilt.

I put on my clothes and comforted her, “Soon, I’ll take you on a trip for a few days. Then we’ll be like a real couple. You can call me husband, whatever you want.”

She broke into a tearful smile. “Smooth talker.”

When I rushed home, I figured Emily must be asleep.

She’s always been a stickler for routine—bed at eleven, up at seven, never changing for years.

But when I walked in, I found her sleeping at the dining table.

The table was covered with dishes, flowers, and a birthday cake.

I checked myself in the mirror by the door, made sure I looked fine, then walked over and gently woke her.

Emily looked at me sleepily.

After a couple of seconds, she grinned.

“Babe, happy birthday.”

I pursed my lips. “Why’d you fall asleep here?”

She yawned. “You said you’d be home by seven, so I thought I should wait for you on your birthday. But since you were with city officials, I didn’t want to call and bother you. Didn’t expect to fall asleep here.”

“You haven’t eaten?” I was a little shocked.

“I tasted so much while cooking, I’m not hungry at all,” she said with a smile.

Looking at her, for some reason, a nameless anger welled up in me. I snapped, “Are you serious? If I’m not back by now, I must’ve eaten out. Didn’t you think to eat first?”

Emily froze, then after a few seconds, she looked down, clearly hurt, but tried to brush it off. Her voice was soft, "What’s wrong?"

I realized immediately. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m just tired today. I’ll go to bed first.”

I shut the bedroom door, but I couldn’t shut out the sound of her waiting in the dark.

Lying in bed, that inexplicable irritation still gnawed at me. Then I heard a rustling sound—she came in, and a warm body snuggled up behind me.

“Babe, I’m sorry. I know you worry I’ll go hungry. I promise, next time I’ll eat. Did you have a bad day? Want to do something fun?”

This is a little unspoken rule between us. If one of us is in a bad mood, upset or wronged outside, the other will take the initiative to seek intimacy, a bit of warmth between husband and wife.

I knew I shouldn’t be angry, so I tried to let it go.

But maybe I’d done it too many times with Rachel—today, I just couldn’t get in the mood.

The more anxious I got, the more irritable I became, and the less it worked.

I kept my voice low. “Forget it tonight.”

Emily thought I was still sulking, so she tickled me, smiling.

I lost my temper and growled, “Enough. Can’t you have a little self-respect?”

Emily’s hand froze.

In the dim room, she stared at me, wide-eyed.