The Order History
Olivia’s pov
I found out on Tuesday.
It was not because he told me. I found out the way most wives do by seeing something they are not supposed to see.
My husband, Xavier, had left his phone on the kitchen counter like he sometimes does. He leaves it face up with the screen on because he trusts me.
Three years of marriage, and he had never once worried about what I might find. That kind of confidence is either love or arrogance. I used to call it love.
Ding!
I was making coffee when I heard the notification.
“Babe! You have a message,” I said loudly.
I stopped what I was doing for a second to notice the message. Then I slowly put the coffee pot down.
The morning sun was shining through the window, making everything look normal. I could feel something changing inside me.
I picked up his phone.
His password was our wedding date: October fourteenth, four digits. I used to think that was sweet.
He had never changed it, and I used to love that about him. The small, quiet declaration that he had nothing to hide. That the date that mattered most to him was also the key to everything.
I understand now that it was just a number he didn't have to think about.
The notification was from sss—an order update.
I tapped it, and the app opened to a product page. I stood in my kitchen and read the words without fully understanding them.
At first, it looked harmless, just orders. But curiosity tugged at me, pulling me deeper. I opened the order history, and my breath caught.
There were things like maternity clothes and a special pillow for women. The premium adjustable design that supports the back, hips, and belly through all stages of pregnancy.
My fingers were shaking as I kept scrolling. The orders went back three months. There were vitamins and a special oil for pregnant women's skin.
My fingers trembled as I kept scrolling. The orders went back three months. Prenatal vitamins. A belly oil that prevents stretch marks and a nursing bra in a size I'd never worn.
We had talked about children. Xavier always changed the subject and always let him. I told myself we still had time.
My coffee went cold, but I kept scrolling.
Between the baby things were other things. A limited-edition Hermes bag. Sage green, the kind they release in small numbers and never restock.
I found it online six months ago and kept the tab open for three days before closing it. I couldn't justify the price, and I'd told myself I didn't need it.
He had bought it for someone else.
A vitamin C serum I'd mentioned once at dinner. La Mer. The full-size moisturizer I'd been rationing for two years, using it only for a little while at night, because every time I reached for it, I thought about the cost and felt guilty.
I put the phone down.
I put it back exactly where he'd left it; the screen still lit, the sss app still open. I didn't close it or move it.
I stood there for a moment with both hands flat on the counter and breathed through the things happening inside me, the collapse and the calcification happening at the same time.
Then I picked up my coffee cup and turned to face the window.
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I wiped them fast before he could notice.
Dinner reservations were canceled and rescheduled, then quietly dropped. Weekends when Xavier came home tired in a way that had nothing to do with work.
I noticed all of it and said nothing.
I told myself I was being paranoid that marriages go through times. Now I knew the truth. Xavier was having an affair.
I did not know what to do. I felt like my whole world was falling apart.
I had been so busy managing my own suspicion, rationalizing it, and tucking it away, that I hadn't made space for what came after confirmation.
Xavier Cross was having an affair. And now I knew just how deeply he was investing in it.
I didn't know what to do with certainty. My vision blurred as the weight of it all settled heavily in my chest. I pressed my lips together, forcing back the sob threatening to escape.
Xavier appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed for the office, his hair still damp.
"Morning," he said while kissing the side of my cheek on his way to his coffee.
"Morning." I didn't turn from the window.
I heard him pour a cup. I heard him pick up his phone. There was a brief pause, then the faint sound of the screen going off.
"Big day?" I asked.
"The usual." He came to stand beside me. I felt the warmth of him.
"Don't wait up tonight; I’ll be having a team dinner."
"Of course." I smiled at the glass. My reflection smiled back, steady and soft and completely convincing. "I'll be fine."
I watched his car disappear around the corner of our street.
Among all the women in Xavier’s circle, there was only one who had recently announced her pregnancy, a junior executive from his office. Bianca Rivers.
I knew her because Xavier had mentioned her before, always in that careful, casual manner men use when speaking of women they desperately want their wives to believe mean nothing to them.
I spent the day doing nothing that mattered. I tidied things that didn't need tidying. I thought about calling my sister and didn't, because I couldn't explain something I didn't yet have words for.
Mostly, I thought about the bag. Not even the betrayal, which was too large to hold all at once, because in three years of marriage, Xavier had never once remembered something I'd wanted.
He had never even remembered my birthday, always leaving it to his assistant, Terezza.
And yet he remembered hers.
