Five Years Of Marriage And I Was A Name He’d Never Mentioned Chapter 01

Five Years Of Marriage And I Was A Name He’d Never Mentioned Chapter 01

Five years into my marriage with Brandon Cole, I suddenly developed the ability to see the ranking in everyone’s heart.

In my mom’s heart, I was number one. In my best friend’s heart, I was number two, right behind her daughter.

Even the breakfast cart guy downstairs had me at number six.

I couldn’t wait to check Brandon’s.

Number one: his mom. Number two: Lauren Cole.

That’s me. I was number two.

I smiled all day.

Until I saw number six. Ivy Simmons. A name I’d never heard before.

I told myself it was fine—I was second, she was only sixth.

But over the next few days, her name crept up. Slowly. Until she almost tied with me.

That night Brandon came home and hugged me like always. “Missed you.”

I looked at the ranking above his head. Ivy was now number three—and climbing.

“Brandon.”

“Who’s Ivy Simmons?”

The arm around me froze for just a moment.

***

That moment was so brief. Brief enough to feel like my imagination.

Brandon looked down at me quickly, his expression natural. “A new designer on the project team. She’s on my case for a while. I’m showing her the ropes.”

He ruffled my hair, same as always.

“What? You’re not jealous of a coworker, are you?”

I looked up at him.

Above his head, Ivy Simmons had locked in at number three. Didn’t even waver.

If she were just a coworker, when your wife asks about her, there should be some flicker inside. Something.

But there was nothing.

I just said, “no” and looked down to drink my water.

The rim of the cup stayed against my lips for a long time.

The next morning, Brandon left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual.

He said morning rush hour was bad.

On the table, as always, were warm milk and fried eggs, with the crusts already cut off my toast.

He’d done that every day for five years.

I stood at the door, waved, and told him to drive safe.

After his taillights disappeared at the corner, I opened the location-sharing app on impulse.

His car wasn’t heading to the office.

It stopped in an unfamiliar neighborhood for over ten minutes before moving again.

I stared at the red dot. My chest sank.

Third day, same time, same route.

Fourth day, I didn’t stand by the window to wave anymore.

I just watched him leave. Watched the red dot stop at that neighborhood.

Every morning after he left, Ivy’s name inched closer.

Not by much.

Just a little.

But enough to make me restless the whole day.

Evenings too. Twice he said he was working late, but the location stopped at another unfamiliar apartment complex, not the office.

I stared at the row of building numbers until my eyes ached.

That evening, I sat at the dining table watching him fiddle with the pour-over kettle in the kitchen.

A sweet scent of caramel spread through the air, seeping into every corner of our house.

That smell didn’t belong to me.

Didn’t belong to us.

Brandon walked over with a cup and set it in front of me. There was a hint of nervousness in his eyes that he probably thought I wouldn’t catch.

“Try it.”

I took a sip.

Sweet. Soft. A faint note of cream.

Not the black coffee we always drank.

I looked up. “Since when do you like caramel?”

He hesitated for half a beat, then smiled. “Thought I’d try something new.”

That half beat stabbed right into my eyes.

That night he showered, leaving his phone on the couch. The notes app was still open.

I only glanced at it.

[Caramel syrup to milk ratio 3:7. She said a little sweeter.]

She.

Not a name. Just a pointed “she.”

My fingers hovered over the screen for a long time.

Water ran in the bathroom. I put the phone back like nothing happened.

Later we curled up on the couch watching a show. I leaned against his shoulder. People on TV were laughing, but I didn’t hear a word.

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, gave a faint smile, and typed a few words back.

The whole thing took maybe five seconds.

But in those five seconds, Ivy’s name jumped forward and practically touched my number two spot.

I was leaning against him. I felt his heart pick up a beat.

Not because of me.

He put the phone down and instinctively pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest.

Like he was making up for something o　　r hiding something.

Late that night, I couldn’t sleep.

A crack of streetlight snuck through the curtains and fell across his face.

He was sleeping peacefully. His brow was smooth, his lips even curved in a faint smile.

I used to love watching him sleep.

But that night, my gaze drifted upward.

The ranking hung quietly above his head.

Number one: Mom. Number two: Lauren Cole. Number two: Ivy Simmons. Tied.

I stared at those two names side by side. It felt like a punch to the chest.

Five years of marriage. And a woman I didn’t know how long he’d been seeing weighed the same in his heart as me.

I gently lifted his arm off my waist and turned to face the wall.

Eyes open until dawn.

The next day while doing laundry, I found a crumpled receipt in his coat pocket. 　　A coffee shop name I didn’t recognize. The 　　time is 7:48 AM.

Exactly the twenty minutes he’d been leaving early.

I slowly unfolded the receipt. 　　Two caramel lattes.

We both only drank black coffee.

So all those experiments at home weren’t about trying a new flavor.

They were for another woman’s taste.

Sunlight fell across the laundry basket. I held that thin slip of paper, and my fingertips went cold one by one.

After a long time, I folded the receipt back up and put it in his pocket.

Then I sat on the balcony with my knees pulled up and didn’t move for hours.

The ranking doesn’t lie. 　　The receipt doesn’t lie.

The only liar was him.