A week later, we stepped into the hotel room, and for the first time in months, I felt excited instead of afraid. The room looked almost exactly as I remembered it—pine trees outside the window, warm lamps, and a huge king-size bed in the center.
I turned toward Jeffrey expecting him to smile.
Instead, he froze.
His eyes locked on the bed.
“There’s only one bed.”
I laughed nervously.
“That’s generally how anniversary weekends work.”
But Jeffrey didn’t laugh.
He gripped the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles turned pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The room is beautiful. You did something wonderful.”
Yet he wouldn’t look at me.
I pulled back the curtains.
“Remember the view? On our honeymoon, you stood right here and told me you’d never seen anything more beautiful.”
“I remember.”
Then Jeffrey cleared his throat.
“I’m going to get another room.”
I turned around.
“What?”
“I’ll get one down the hall. I’ve been restless lately, tossing around at night. I don’t want to disturb you.”
I stared at him.
“Jeffrey, this is our twentieth anniversary.”
“It’s only for sleeping. We’ll still have dinner. We’ll spend the day together.”
“The day?”
Something cold settled inside me.
“You don’t want to sleep beside me.”
“That isn’t what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
He finally looked at me.
“I can’t explain right now. Please trust me.”
Then he picked up his suitcase and walked out.
PART 2
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