Instead, he gave me space.

That almost made me more confused.

On the third day, I received an envelope.

There was no return address.

Inside was an old photograph.

It showed Matthew and me when we were seventeen.

We were sitting on the hood of his father's old car, laughing.

On the back, someone had written:

“It started here.”

My heart began pounding.

I called Emma.

She came immediately.

We stared at the photograph together.

“Who sent this?”

“I don't know.”

Then Emma noticed something.

“Look at the corner.”

There was a small handwritten number.

17.

I remembered something.

Matthew had kept a box of memories from high school.

Photos.

Tickets.

Notes.

Old letters.

I suddenly wanted to see it.

So we drove to my house while Matthew was at work.

The house felt strangely unfamiliar.

I found the box in the back of our closet.

Inside were years of memories.

Our first school dance.

Graduation.

College.

Our wedding.

Our honeymoon.

Our first Christmas.

Our first anniversary.

Everything.

Then I found something I'd never seen before.

A folded piece of paper.

It was old.

Very old.

I opened it.

And immediately recognized Matthew's handwriting.

It was dated when we were seventeen.

It said:

“Someday, I'm going to give her the life she deserves.”

I stared at it.

Emma looked over my shoulder.

“That doesn't sound like a trap.”

“No,” I whispered.

“But then what is it?”

I didn't know.

The Stranger From the Photograph

That afternoon, another envelope appeared.

This time it contained a second photograph.

It showed a woman I'd never seen before.

She was standing beside Matthew outside a hospital.

On the back were three words:

“Ask him why.”

I felt sick again.

“Who is she?”

Emma stared at the photo.

“I don't know.”

Neither did I.

I spent the next hour trying to remember whether I'd ever seen her.

Nothing.

Then I noticed the hospital sign.

It was the same hospital where Matthew's mother had been treated when we were teenagers.

Suddenly, an old memory surfaced.

I remembered Matthew disappearing for several weeks during our senior year.

Whenever I'd asked where he was, he'd simply said:

“My family needs me.”

I had never pushed.

Now I wondered whether that was the beginning of whatever secret he'd been hiding.

I Finally Confronted Him

That evening, Matthew came to Emma's house.

He didn't knock aggressively.

He simply stood outside.

When I opened the door, he looked exhausted.

His eyes were red.

“I know you're angry,” he said.

“Who is she?”

He froze.

I held up the photograph.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered:

“You found that.”

“What does that mean?”

He closed his eyes.

“I wanted you to find out differently.”

“Find out what?”

He looked at me.

“I need you to trust me for two more days.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Trust you?”

“I know how this looks.”

“You told someone I'd walked into your trap!”

“I know.”

“You've been planning something since we were teenagers!”

“I know.”

“Then tell me what it is!”

He looked like he was about to cry.

“I can't.”

I stared at him.

“Then we're done.”

His face changed.

“No.”

“You don't get to decide that.”

“I know.”

“Then let me go.”

He nodded slowly.

“If that's what you truly want after you know the truth, I'll let you go.”

I was furious.

“What truth?”

He stepped closer.

But he stopped before touching me.

“Two days.”

Then he walked away.

The Two Longest Days of My Life

I didn't sleep.

I couldn't eat.

I couldn't concentrate at work.

My mind kept inventing explanations.

Maybe he had another family.

Maybe he'd married me for money.

Maybe he had been waiting for our fifth anniversary to leave.

Maybe the entire relationship had been part of a cruel plan.

But every explanation felt wrong.