My Husband Abandoned Our Dinner for His Mistress

As Grayson came out of the shower, holding the watch, I recalled how I had absentmindedly set it aside after packing. In the past, whenever he gave me something, I'd eagerly try it on and show it off on Instagram. But the uninspired gifts from him had long extinguished any excitement.

He sat next to me, his tone softer, and suggested, "How about we take a picture and post it on Instagram?"

I hesitated for a moment and then shook my head. "No, it doesn't seem professional to share personal stuff with clients."

Seeing my indifferent response, Grayson tossed the watch aside, clearly annoyed. "Esme, are you still upset about what happened last month?"

"I've explained it already, haven't I? We just had too much to drink at dinner and stayed over with friends. What could possibly have happened between Tiana and me?"

If he hadn't mentioned it, I might have forgotten how foolish I'd felt back then. A month ago, during one of their gatherings, Grayson hadn't come home all night and was unreachable. I was frantic, unable to sleep, desperately asking everyone if they knew where he was. Eventually, I found him at the spa he often visited, asleep in Tiana Rodriguez’s arms. Despite the onlookers, I had a heated argument with him.

He casually brushed it off as having had too much to drink. Their friends chimed in, "We were all there. They couldn’t have done anything. Moreover, we’ve been friends with Tiana for so long that we don’t even see her as a woman. It's purely platonic."

Yet, during their earlier gatherings, I had overheard his friends teasing, "You two have such chemistry. Why not get back together?"

Grayson never outright denied it. Back then, I stormed off in anger. Initially, he tried to appease me, "I only see Tiana as a friend. Nothing happened."

But later, his tone shifted to annoyance, "Even if something did happen with her, what does it matter to you? Why are you so petty?"

Seeing my husband entwined with another woman and then being labeled as petty for confronting him led us to a stalemate.

On our fifth anniversary, I thought it might be his way of reconciling. Instead, it was the last straw.

I refocused on my phone, ignoring the increasingly agitated Grayson. "You're overthinking things," I responded coolly.

He seemed taken aback to hear his usual words echoed back at him. "You're really not mad?"

I looked up calmly, "What’s there to be mad about?" Before he could respond, I added, "I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight. I’ve had a bit to drink."

Grayson's face darkened as he abruptly stood up, muttering, "Suit yourself," and stormed back to the bedroom.

I was puzzled. Wasn’t this what he always wanted—me not to throw tantrums, not to be jealous, not to question everything?

The next morning, surprisingly, Grayson cooked breakfast. He set a bowl of oatmeal on the table, calling me over, "You're awake? I made your favorite oatmeal, come eat."

I was momentarily stunned. Because no one cooked for him when he was young, Grayson always prepared his own meals and grew to dislike cooking. Knowing this, I never brought it up. I was the one doing the cooking after we got together and even took a cooking class for him. The only other time he cooked was when I was in the hospital for an appendectomy; he brought me homemade oatmeal. It was the best I'd ever tasted, and I occasionally asked him to make it again, but he always replied curtly, "Make it yourself, or buy it. I’m not your chef."

Thinking I’d dredged up painful memories, I never asked again. But when I stumbled upon Tiana's social media, she mentioned Grayson always cooked for her because she didn't like cafeteria food. He even rented a place to prepare meals and bring them to her. When Tiana moved to this city, it was Grayson who cooked for their gatherings because she liked his cooking.

For days, I masochistically scrolled through Tiana’s posts, absorbing their evident affection, feeling like an outsider in a love story that should have been mine.

Grayson approached, gently pulling out a chair for me, his voice unusually tender. "Esme, let's enjoy these few days. Remember you wanted to see that actor's play? I’ll book tickets for us."

I almost laughed. He had already seen the play with her, yet pretended otherwise. Earlier, a play featuring an actor I adored finally came to our city. I paid extra to snag tickets, hoping Grayson would join me. He claimed he had to work late. Yet, Tiana posted a video, “Thanks to my darling Gray for making time to watch the play with me. Love you!” The video featured clips of the play, with photos of them together.

I didn’t respond, focusing instead on breakfast. Unfazed, Grayson took out his phone to book tickets. "If you're silent, I'll take it as a yes."

He fiddled with the ticket app but couldn’t find the performance. Disappointed, I glanced at my phone wallpaper. "The tour ended this year."

His fingers froze, mouth opening but no words came out. After a pause, he looked at me with some guilt, "I’m sorry... Esme, I promise next year."

I chuckled, the mirth not reaching my eyes. "You said the same last year."

The room's atmosphere thickened. Without meeting Grayson’s increasingly pale face, I calmly said, "I’m off to work."