Another Woman's Name on File

At the end of the year, I went to the spa and discovered a stranger had been using my VIP card. When I logged into my personal profile, the last three treatment records were not under my name.

The preference section listed specific details about someone else. She was allergic to rose essential oil, preferred lavender, and her heating pad temperature could not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit.

Her menstrual cycle fell around the 15th of each month, so no waist or abdomen treatments during that time.

I stared at the screen, my palms turning cold. Only my husband, Zachary White, knew this password. At the time, he said he needed it to check the balance and renew my membership.

I scrolled down and found a system note at the bottom: [Birthday treatment reserved for December 30, prepared according to Ms. Anderson's preferences.]

Today was December 30.

My phone vibrated. Zachary had sent a message: [Working late tonight. Won't be home.]

Familiar laughter drifted from the hallway. Through the glass door, I watched Zachary walk into the adjacent room with his arm around a woman, the beautician hurrying forward to greet them. "Mr. White, we have Ms. Anderson's birthday treatment ready, just as you requested."

The smile on Zachary White's face froze instantly. The arm he had wrapped around that woman went rigid and dropped to his side. He strode toward me with his brows furrowed, as if I were the one who had done something wrong.

"Cece, what are you doing here? Why didn't you answer my messages?"

I finally recognized the woman behind him, the one the staff had called 'Ms. Anderson'. Emma Anderson, the daughter of his late mentor whom he always talked about.

She wore a simple white dress with her long hair loose over her shoulders. Her face was pale. She looked utterly pitiful.

I did not answer Zachary's question. I simply shifted my gaze from the screen that recorded another woman's preferences in such detail and slowly raised my eyes to his face.

My voice came out calm, betraying nothing. "Weren't you working late?"

Zachary took a deep breath, as if struggling to suppress some emotion. He did not answer directly. Instead, he stepped forward and tried to take my hand. Yet I instinctively pulled away.

His hand hung awkwardly in midair. His expression darkened further. "Can we talk about this at home? There are too many people here."

Emma stepped forward timidly from behind him, her eyes rimmed with red. "Zach, this is all my fault. Did I cause a misunderstanding with Cecilia? Let me explain right now. I begged Zach to lend me this card. My health hasn't been good, and my doctor said I need regular treatments, but I can't afford them..."

As she spoke, tears began streaming down her face.

"Cecilia, please don't blame Zach for this. He's only helping me because he feels sorry for me. The birthday treatment is a surprise he prepared for me. He said I never had a proper birthday growing up.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know this card was so important to you. I won't use it ever again!"

What a performance of twisting the truth. She painted herself as completely innocent, pinning everything on Zachary's kindness and my supposed overreaction.

Zachary immediately defended her, his tone carrying obvious reproach, but it was directed at me. "Cece! Don't do this. Em's health is really poor. You're scaring her."

When he turned back to Emma, his voice turned soft and tender. "It's okay, Em. Don't cry. This isn't your fault. I didn't think it through. I should've told Cee beforehand. Go inside for your treatment, and don't catch a cold."

He even thoughtfully removed his suit jacket and draped it over Emma's shoulders, over her thin dress.

At that moment, I felt cold all over. It was late December in Halfort. The outdoor temperature hovered near freezing. Due to pregnancy swelling, I could only wear flat shoes. My ankles were exposed, the wind cutting through me. Yet all he cared about was whether another woman might catch a cold.

I watched them, so wrapped up in each other that they seemed to forget I was standing there. My chest tightened. Every breath hurt.

"Zachary," I called, my voice trembling slightly from cold and anger. "Why did you give that card to Emma?"

He hesitated, then frowned. "What's the big deal? I already told you, didn't I? She's my mentor's daughter. I gave her the card because I wanted you two to get along better. I did it for your sake."