My Savior, My Ruin

On our tenth wedding anniversary, I put on delicate makeup and wore Michael Limbaugh's favorite pearl-white dress. He kissed me before leaving that morning. "Tonight, we're going to the Vernal Reverie Revolving Restaurant. I've reserved us a table." I leaned against the door, smiling. "I still remembered ten years ago, you proposed to me right here at the Vernal Reverie." He ruffled my hair. "Of course I remember that too." After finishing the housework in the morning, I messaged him asking for the exact time. The moment I sent the message, I froze. His call ringtone wasn't the usual beep. It was a sweet, girlish voice softly singing, "You are the starlight, you are the ocean, the direction of all my heartbeats..." I'd never heard that song before, nor that voice. I stared at the phone screen; he didn't answer, so I listened for a full minute. In the afternoon, I went to the school to find him. Michael is a professor in the Architecture department, and he had a seminar today. Just outside the conference room, I was about to knock. The door opened, and Michael came out, followed by a young woman. The girl tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes shining. That kind of light—I know it all too well. When I was twenty, I looked at him exactly like that. "Hi, Ms. Jordan, nice to see you!" The girl saw me first, stopping with an obedient smile. Michael turned around, his eyes pausing briefly when he saw me. "Dr. Limbaugh just mentioned you—said he'd be spending the anniversary evening with you." The girl added, her tone affectionate. Michael walked over casually. "What brings you here all of a sudden?" "I wanted to surprise you." I said, my gaze on the girl. "Joan, this is my wife, Marianne Jordan." He introduced her, then turned to me, "Marianne, this is the graduate student I brought, Joan Charles." Joan Charles. I'd seen that name before in his cell phone contacts, listed near the top. "Ms. Jordan, you look stunning. That pearl white dress suits you perfectly." Her tone was sweet as she reached out, trying to take my arm. I instinctively stepped aside to avoid her touch. Her hand froze in mid-air, then she casually pulled it back and smiled, "Dr. Limbaugh, I'll go check the thesis with the senior students, so I won't disturb you and Ms. Jordan." Michael nodded, "Go ahead. Reach out to me anytime if there's a problem." She waved goodbye, the hem of her skirt lifting in a youthful sweep. Michael took my hand. "Come on, I'll take you to my office to sit for a bit." "No need," I pulled my hand away. "I just came to see you." He smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Then how about I walk you around campus?" I shook my head. "You still have to prepare for the seminar. I'll head back first. See you tonight at the restaurant." At night, the Vernal Reverie Revolving Restaurant was wrapped in dim, ambiguous lighting. He cut my steak and placed it in front of me. The cell phone suddenly buzzed. He glanced at the screen and casually switched it to silent. "There's a problem with the student's thesis." He explained, his tone flat. "Is it Joan?" I asked. He looked up at me, stunned for a moment. "Yeah, her final draft hasn't been revised yet." "Then call her back first; don't hold her up." I said. "No rush. I want to have dinner with you first." He picked up his knife and fork, his movements a bit stiff. I didn't say anything more, but the thorn in my heart only dug deeper. He went to the bathroom halfway through, leaving his cell phone on the table. The screen lit up briefly—it was Joan's message: "Dr. Limbaugh, I've added the inspiration section to the thesis. Could you take a look when you have time?" I grabbed his cell phone and unlocked it with the fingerprint—still my fingerprint. I put it down again. Then I took out my own cell phone. His email had been logged in on my phone, and he never logged out. For some reason, I clicked open the inbox. The latest email was from Joan, with the subject line: "Final thesis draft, please advise, Dr. Limbaugh." I opened the attachment and downloaded it. The document opened. The first half was a serious architectural thesis. I flipped through quickly until I reached page 40. A photo suddenly popped up. Joan was wearing black lace pics, leaning against the window of Michael's office. His trophies were clearly visible on the desk behind her. Her eyes were seductive, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Below the photo, a small caption read: "Dr. Limbaugh, do you like this kind of inspiration?" My blood instantly ran cold. I lost my grip on the cell phone, and it fell right into the salad bowl in front of me. Salad dressing splattered all over my white dress, leaving me a mess. "What's wrong?" Michael came back and immediately saw the pale color of my face. He hurried over, trying to grab my cell phone. I held his hand down, my voice trembling but utterly clear. I stared at him, word by word: "Michael, let's end here." He froze, eyes full of shock: "Marianne, what are you talking about?" "I said," I repeated, each word sharp as ice, "we are done here."