A Name I Hadn’t Heard In Years
1548 Words
I didn’t ask him again.
That was the decision I made the next morning.
No questions.
No accusations.
No searching through his phone while he showered.
No checking the address from the night before.
Nothing.
If there was something going on, I would eventually find out.
And if there wasn’t…
I didn’t want to become the kind of wife who turned every unanswered question into a crime.
So I chose trust.
At least, I tried to.
By the time I reached my studio, I had almost convinced myself that everything was normal.
Almost.
My morning disappeared between a client’s revised floor plan and a disagreement over kitchen countertops that somehow lasted twenty minutes.
I was standing over a large table covered with material samples when Emma walked in carrying a stack of drawings.
“Your client changed the lighting plan again.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course she did.”
“She says the pendant lights feel too modern.”
“They’re the exact lights she approved yesterday.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Why do clients do this?”
“Because apparently we don’t have enough emotional suffering in our lives.”
I laughed.
That was exactly what I needed.
For a while, I forgot about everything else.
Then my phone rang.
His name appeared on the screen.
My heart still did that ridiculous little thing whenever I saw it.
I answered.
“Hi.”
“Hi, beautiful.”
I smiled.
“You’re interrupting my very important work.”
“I’m aware.”
“How?”
“Because you ignored my first call.”
“I was busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
“So are you.”
“I know.”
There was something warm in his voice.
Familiar.
Comforting.
“Are you calling to apologize for last night?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Then why?”
“I’m calling to tell you I’m stealing you tonight.”
“You already stole me three years ago.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I had to convince you.”
I smiled.
“You didn’t.”
“I absolutely did.”
“You showed up at my studio every day for a week.”
“Exactly. Persistence.”
“Harassment.”
“Romance.”
I laughed.
He was quiet for a second.
Then he said softly, “I missed you.”
Something in my chest tightened.
“I saw you last night.”
“Didn’t stop me.”
I looked down at the drawing in front of me.
“Where are you?”
“Office.”
“Busy?”
“Very.”
There was a pause.
Then, “But I wanted to hear your voice.”
I smiled.
“You’re getting sentimental.”
“Only with you.”
I could hear someone speaking faintly in the background.
A man’s voice this time.
My husband said something I couldn’t make out.
Then he returned to the phone.
“I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“Dinner. Eight.”
“Eight.”
“And wear that black dress.”
I raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see me.
“You’re very demanding.”
“I know what I like.”
“And what exactly do you like?”
“You.”
His answer came without hesitation.
My cheeks warmed.
“Go work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone for a moment before putting it down.
Emma was watching me.
“What?”
She smiled.
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that face.”
“What face?”
“The married-woman face.”
I laughed.
“I don’t have a married-woman face.”
“You absolutely do.”
I shook my head and went back to work.
For the next few hours, I managed not to think about the night before.
Until I went home.
⸻
He was already there.
I found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, one hand resting against the marble counter while he poured two glasses of wine.
He looked up when I walked in.
His eyes moved over me slowly.
“You wore it.”
I looked down at my black dress.
“You told me to.”
“I know.”
He walked toward me.
I barely had time to put my bag down before his arms wrapped around my waist.
His lips found mine.
The kiss was warm and unhurried.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“You had a good day?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
I hesitated.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Work,” I said.
He smiled.
“Liar.”
“I had a difficult client.”
“That I believe.”
I laughed.
He kissed the corner of my mouth.
“Come on. Eat.”
Dinner was perfect.
Too perfect, maybe.
We talked about my latest project.
He complained about one of his investors.
I told him his investor sounded unbearable.
“He is.”
“Then fire him.”
“I might.”
“You can’t fire everyone who annoys you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d eventually be the only person left in Manhattan.”
He smiled.
“I’d still have you.”
I looked at him.
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Very.”
He reached across the table and caught my hand.
His thumb moved slowly over my wedding ring.
“I love you.”
The words were simple.
But they still affected me.
“I love you too.”
His eyes held mine.
And for a moment, the questions disappeared.
The strange call.
The unexplained meeting.
The hesitation.
Everything.
There was only him.
Only us.
⸻
Later that night, we were lying in bed.
His arm was around me, my head resting against his chest.
“You know what I want?” he asked.
“What?”
“A house somewhere quiet.”
I lifted my head.
“You hate quiet.”
“I hate other people’s quiet.”
I laughed.
He continued.
“Somewhere with a garden.”
“You don’t garden.”
“You will.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the designer.”
“I design interiors. I don’t maintain plants.”
“We’ll hire someone.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
“And maybe a dog.”
“A dog?”
“Yes.”
“You’re allergic.”
“Then we’ll get one that doesn’t make me sneeze.”
I laughed again.
He pulled me closer.
“And maybe…”
His voice softened.
“Maybe one day, a family.”
I went still.
He looked down at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
I smiled.
“You just surprised me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.”
I touched his cheek.
“Not at all.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Good.”
I settled back against him.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then his phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Once.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
His body stiffened.
Just slightly.
I felt it beneath my cheek.
He reached for the phone.
The screen lit up.
I didn’t mean to look.
But I saw the first name.
Maya.
My husband’s expression changed.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something harder to name.
He turned the phone facedown.
“Work?”
I asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t sound convincing.
I waited.
He didn’t explain.
Neither did I ask.
But the name stayed in my mind.
Maya.
I had never heard it before.
And somehow, I knew I would remember it.
⸻
The next morning, I woke before him.
I slipped out of bed and went downstairs.
The house was still dark.
I made coffee and stood by the kitchen window, watching Manhattan slowly wake beyond the glass.
A few minutes later, he appeared behind me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
He kissed my shoulder.
Then he reached for his coffee.
His phone was in his other hand.
I watched him scroll through his messages.
He suddenly stopped.
His expression hardened.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
Again.
That word.
Nothing.
I turned toward him.
“You’ve said that a lot lately.”
He looked at me.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he stepped closer.
His hand touched my cheek.
“There’s nothing you need to worry about.”
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
So I nodded.
He kissed me.
And I let him.
But as he walked away, my eyes fell on his phone lying beside his coffee.
The screen was still open.
I couldn’t see the message.
Only the name at the top.
Maya.
I stared at it.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the strangest part wasn’t that someone kept calling my husband.
It was that he seemed terrified of me knowing who she was.
I didn’t know why.
I didn’t know who Maya was.
I didn’t know what she wanted.
But I knew one thing.
Whatever my husband was hiding…
he was getting very good at hiding it from me.
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