Page 4 of The Breaking Point

“Mom?”

I blink, turning to see Alex standing at the edge of the hallway, his tie loose around his neck, hair already messy from whatever chaos the cousins started. His voice pulls me out like a rope from underwater.

“We’re waiting for you,” he says.

I stare at him for a beat, heart clenched. My baby. My sweet, fifteen-year-old baby. When did he get so tall?

“Coming,” I say, forcing the word out.

Running my hands over my dress, I try to straighten the imaginary crinkles. Heels clicking on the tile, I walk toward him. Whatever this is, whatever Eli thinks he knows, can wait. I’ve got a family to show up for.

We take a million pictures. I try to relax, to lose myself in the smiles and flashes, but the doubt sticks like a shadow I can’t shake. I watch Aiden smile at the camera, he’s the man who stayed, who never walked away when most would’ve bolted. Could he have done it? Could this amazing, devoted husband have cheated? And if he did… can I forgive him?

The night winds down. We say goodbye to the last of the guests. My parents are taking the boys for the week. Aiden and I aregoing to Bora Bora for a week. We’re gonna spend the night here and fly out in the morning, It’s our gift to each other, a break from everything, a second honeymoon.

Outside the hotel, after waving the kids off, I catch his eye. “Do you remember the night before our wedding?”

He doesn’t look at me at first.

“God, I was so scared. It sounds crazy, we were already a family but that night felt… real. The wedding shower with tea probably didn’t help. What did you guys do again? For your bachelor party?”

Finally, he turns. “Oh, we just went to a bar and got drunk.”

I smile, but inside I’m dying. He never told me about the strip club. The last time I asked, he said they’d gone to a casino. That’s the thing about lies, they’re hard to keep track of.

We decide to head upstairs to our honeymoon suite. Our bags are already packed, waiting for the flight tomorrow. The elevator ride drags on, slow and cramped, the elevator music, some cheesy, tinny tune is grating on my nerves with every note. I try to breathe through it, but it just gets under my skin.

Finally, the doors slide open, and we step into the corridor. Our suite is spacious, soft, warm lighting that casts everything in a golden glow. A king-sized bed with crisp white sheets dominates the room, piled with fluffy pillows and rose petals. Floor-to-ceiling windows open to a balcony overlooking the city skyline, lights flickering like distant stars. There’s a sleek minibar in the corner, stocked with a few fancy bottles, and a small seating area with a leather couch and there’s a bucket with a bottle of champagne, I'm guessing, on the glass table next to it. Thebathroom gleams with marble counters and a deep soaking tub, candles flickering along the edges.

It’s beautiful, but it feels too quiet, too claustrophobic right now.

Aiden turns to me, hands sliding around my waist, his breath warm as he leans in for a kiss. I jerk my head down, hugging him. I can’t, not yet. Not until I know. It sounds crazy, because I trust him with my life, but the seed of doubt has planted itself deep, and it’s growing.

The days before our wedding, he was different. Irritated with me more than anyone. I didn’t ask why, too scared he might actually leave. He was the only one who ever stayed, besides Grandma. I couldn’t lose him, so I ignored the way he snapped at me, the way he pulled away.

Then the day of the wedding, he showed up at my bridal suite. I hadn’t even put on my dress yet. He looked damn good in his tux, too good. I remember the look in his eyes. I thought he was about to end it, to say he wanted out. I told him straight up: we could postpone, we didn’t have to do it if he wasn’t sure.

Right then Mom had come in with the boys, both in their tiny matching tuxes, innocent and loud. His whole mood had shifted. He had looked at me, apologized for his behaviour, and promised he’d do better. I thought it was love. Maybe it was guilt.

I’m used to guilt at work, people trying to hide what they’ve done. The trick? Make them think you already know. Make them believe you’re giving them a chance to confess something that isn’t a secret anymore.

“A woman came up to me today,” I whisper into the crook of his neck.

He hums softly. “A coworker?”

“No,” I say, voice low. “She used to be a stripper.”

He doesn’t react at first, just keeps his arms around me.

“She said she quit after hooking up with a guy at his bachelor party, ten years ago. Said it changed her life.”

Finally, he stills. I press, voice sharper now. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

He pushes me back by the shoulders, his eyes wild. “What?”

I step away completely, folding my arms. “She already told me her side. You want to tell me yours?”

His breath quickens. He’s panicking. “Whatever she said. It’s a lie.”

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