I just bought some across the street, there are no women’s.”
It seems reasonable, but there is some pain that I can’t explain.
That night, while it was still raining outside, I hugged him to find warmth. He gently pushed my hand away, saying he was tired. I turned over and slowly fell asleep, but in my mind, the image of the black socks and his avoidance kept replaying in my mind.
Until suddenly my cellphone rang — ting!. I turned slightly and saw him get up, reading the message. In a flash, I read a few words:
“Come downstairs.”
My chest pounded.
Who would message him at this hour? It couldn’t just be a coworker. I pretended to be asleep while watching his every move.
After a few minutes, he slowly got off the bed and left the room. I followed him, silently, my anger swallowed by nervousness. On the stairs, I heard his soft voice:
“Don’t tell my wife…”
It felt like something was squeezing my heart.
Those words echoed in my mind all night, until before I knew it, the sun had risen.
The next day, I woke up to the sunlight shining into our room. Next to my pillow, there was a shiny key and a small piece of paper. Written in familiar handwriting:
“Happy birthday, my love.
I saved for a year and even borrowed a little to buy you a car. The nights I was away – those were the times I took care of the paperwork and the search. I hope you like it.”
I stared at the paper, my hands shaking.
The nights of doubt, the secret messages, even the black socks – it turned out to be all part of a surprise. Outside, the mist continued. But inside, there was a strange warmth.
I held the key, and my tears slowly dripped onto the paper — tears of relief, of understanding, and of love that was stronger than any rain.
