My Wife Decided To Buy New Lingerie And Didn’t Want To Take Me To The Mall — Instead, She Took...

My Wife Decided To Buy New Lingerie And Didn’t Want To Take Me To The Mall — Instead, She Took...
I didn't move from my vantage point. I watched them drift out of the store, Vanna laughing at something Troy said, swinging a bag that contained things only a husband should see. But I wasn't her husband anymore. Not really. I was just the guy who paid the mortgage and fixed the breaker when the hair dryer tripped it.
Troy looked like a caricature of success in his tailored suit, the kind that costs three grand but looks cheap on a man with no spine. He guided her toward the escalator, his hand sliding lower than was necessary. I felt a tightening in my chest, not heartbreak, but the dangerous pressure of a boiler about to blow a valve.
I checked my watch. Eighteen minutes.
Kalia appeared at the north entrance like a storm front. She was still wearing her scrubs, a light blue set that made her look clinical and severe. She scanned the upper level, locked eyes with me, and nodded once. She didn't take the stairs; she took the elevator, cutting a path through the wandering teenagers and stroller moms with the precision of a surgeon.
I met her at the top of the escalator just as Vanna and Troy were stepping off at the bottom, heading toward the parking garage exit.
"Where are they?" Kalia asked. She was breathing hard, her jaw set tight enough to crack a molar.
"Heading for the south exit," I said, pointing. "He's parked in the VIP lot. Because of course he is."
"Let's go."
We took the stairs, moving fast. My work boots thudded heavy on the tile, a stark contrast to the soft pop music filtering through the mall speakers. We cut through the food court, bypassing the pretzel stand and the smoothie bar, flanking them just before they reached the revolving doors.
"Vanna!"
Kalia didn't shout, but her voice projected with the authority of someone used to telling grown men to open wide and stop complaining.
Vanna froze. The bag from Victoria's Secret swung against her leg. She turned, a smile already forming on her face—the automatic, public-facing smile she’d perfected for my client dinners.
The smile died the second she saw us.
It was like watching a lightbulb burn out. First the flash of recognition, then the sudden, dark void of realization. Her eyes darted from Kalia to me, then to Troy, and finally to the floor.


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