PART 1: THE PHONE CALL

I was planning to come home early to surprise my husband with an anniversary gift. Instead, I overheard a phrase that made me question many of the memories we had shared.

Matthew and I have known each other since childhood. Our families lived next door to each other, and he was there for me through school, birthdays, and all the difficult times.

When another boy made fun of my big glasses in fourth grade, Matthew stood up for me and accepted the consequences without regret.

“No one has the right to make you cry, Ashley,” he told me.

He had always been like that: loyal, patient, and protective.

I was the complete opposite. I doubted almost everything. I was on the verge of joining the student council, auditioning for plays, and applying to my dream college. Matthew was the only one who noticed how often I passed up opportunities right before something good could happen.

In high school, everyone expected us to fall in love.

They were right.

We got married after college, bought a small house near the neighborhood where we had grown up, and built what I thought was a quiet life.

Three weeks before our fifth anniversary, I asked Matthew to order a watch he really liked. I picked it up and drove home, imagining his reaction.

His car was in the driveway, even though he usually worked until five.

I opened the door silently, hoping to surprise him.

Then I heard my name.

Matthew was in the living room talking on the phone.

“It all started in high school,” he said. “I’ve been working on this since we were teenagers.”

I froze.

—I kept everything. She still has no idea. If she had found out earlier, the plan wouldn’t have worked.

Then came the phrase that completely changed my perception of those years.

—My plan is about to work.

I left before he saw me.

Sitting in my car, suddenly every promise and every coincidence seemed different to me.

Had he truly loved me, or had he been silently influencing some of the most important decisions in my life?

The memories returned.

During my university years, I filled out an application for a prestigious summer program, chickened out, and threw it in the trash. Somehow, a week later, I received an acceptance email.

I had assumed that I had sent it during a moment of bravery that I later forgot.

Now I was wondering if anyone else had done it.

Then more memories surfaced: abandoned applications, unexpected opportunities, and successes I had attributed to luck.

For the first time, I wondered if Matthew had been discreetly interfering in my decisions for years.

Continued on the next page.