We stopped to fill up the car. My husband was driving, I was next to him…

He was holding her hand.” Sarah paused, seeing my face pale. “Maybe it was just a colleague, or a distant relative you don’t know about, or maybe I got it wrong.

But you’re my best friend, and I felt I had to tell you.” That evening, as I mechanically prepared dinner, I replayed Sarah’s words. Michael did go on business trips occasionally.

But he hadn’t mentioned Portland, and lately, his trips and meetings had become more frequent. He’d also stopped sharing details about them almost entirely. When Michael got home, I tried to sound calm and asked over dinner.

“Hey, have you had any trips to Portland lately? Sarah said she thought she saw you there the other day.” “Portland?” Michael looked up, surprised, but I thought I caught a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Oh, yeah, I was there once.

New potential client, big regional player. Just preliminary talks, so I didn’t mention it—didn’t want to jinx it.” His answer sounded natural enough.

But his face seemed to tense briefly, his voice slightly higher than usual. A few days later, when I’d almost convinced myself it was just a business meeting, Michael suggested something completely out of character for him lately—a road trip, just the two of us.

“Emily, we’ve been so caught up lately, barely any time for each other,” he said one evening, wrapping his arms around me. “Work, errands, chaos. How about we take a long drive this weekend? Just you and me. Clear our heads, change the scenery.”

I was genuinely surprised. He’d been prioritizing work over me for so long that I hadn’t expected such a sudden, romantic gesture. “Where would we go?” I asked, a faint hope stirring in me.

“How about San Diego, in our car? We’ll make it a luxurious weekend, like the good old days, for once. The ocean, the sun, palm trees…”

His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Michael had never suggested spontaneous, long road trips. And this came out of nowhere, just three days before the supposed departure.

Though puzzled, I thought maybe this was his way of apologizing for his recent distance. I agreed, clinging desperately to the chance. The day before we left, Michael gave me an expensive diamond necklace.

When I opened the small, navy velvet box from a renowned, exorbitantly priced jeweler, I was speechless. The necklace was breathtaking, the stones sparkling brilliantly. I felt a mix of awe and an inexplicable unease.

“Michael, why? This is too extravagant, just because.” “Because you’re my beloved wife, and you’ve put up with so much because of my work. It’s just a token of my gratitude and love.”

His words were warm, tender, but I sensed a hint of falseness in his tone. That night, Michael came to bed unusually early. He held me tightly, something he hadn’t done in ages, and looked into my eyes. “I love you, Emily.

I love you so much. I want you to always remember that, no matter what happens.” Those words threw me off completely.

There was an intonation that heightened my anxiety, as if he were saying goodbye forever. The next morning, as I got ready to leave, I looked in the mirror. The new necklace glittered dazzlingly on my neck, but it felt unbearably heavy, like it was pressing down on me.

Michael’s sudden kindness and generosity didn’t ease my fears—it amplified them. As Michael started the car, he asked cheerfully, “Ready for an adventure, princess?” I forced a smile and nodded. But deep down, I was certain something was wrong.

Still, I desperately hoped this trip would rebuild our connection, restore the warmth and trust I felt we were losing. The drive south started smoothly enough. Outside the car windows, the monotonous yet scenic landscapes of the Pacific Northwest rolled by, followed by endless fields and orchards…