What the Light Forgets

Inside the bathroom drawer lay a package of sanitary pads that clearly didn’t belong to me.

Outside the door, I heard Tamara’s voice on the phone.

"Mr. Shepherd," she said sweetly, "I got my period at the hospital, but I can’t find the special brand for younger girls. There’s a pack left in your bathroom. Could you bring it to me?"

Henry stepped into the bathroom, only to catch me pulling open the drawer.

His gaze flickered with guilt before he quickly walked away.

"I couldn’t find it. I’ll go buy you a new pack from the store," he said into the receiver.

"Please hurry, Mr. Shepherd! If the hospital bed gets dirty, the nurses will be upset—and I’d be so embarrassed!"

Henry seemed to have a lot of patience for Tamara’s antics.

He even seemed to note every detail of what she needed: the brand, the length, the type.

By the time he hung up, I had finished packing my suitcase.

Then he turned back awkwardly and tried to explain, "Don't read too much into it. She only came over that day to change her clothes."

I shrugged.

"Make sense."

Henry grew irritated. "Why do you always put on that cold face? If it bothers you that much, then fine, I won’t go."

I smiled lightly, but did not respond.

Henry watched my expression, realizing I truly wasn’t angry, before finally stepping out the door.

When he reached the door, he hesitated, then turned back.

"Where are you going with all that luggage?" he asked.

"Valmont," I answered plainly.

A flash of realization crossed Henry’s face, and his whole body seemed to relax.

"Next week," he said, "I’ll clear my schedule and take you to Valmont for our honeymoon."

On the day I had decided to leave, Henry had finally remembered the promises we once made.

Unfortunately, it was already too late.

While waiting at the airport, I happened to see a post from Tamara that she had purposely tagged me in.

In the video, she lay on a hospital bed, her hair covered in soapy foam, while a pair of masculine hands washed her hair.

It captured Henry’s voice.

"Don’t move," he said affectionately.

Tamara had adorned her caption with several heart emojis:

[My hand’s injured and I can’t get it wet, so Mr. Shepherd insisted on washing my hair for me.

[It’s so oily, and I’m so embarrassed… but he doesn’t mind at all! He even said he’ll keep taking care of me like this from now on.]

Right on cue, Henry’s message arrived:

[Something’s come up next week. Cancel the ticket for now. I’ll find time to go with you next month.]

What he didn’t know was that I had never booked a ticket for him in the first place.

Just before takeoff, I had my lawyer send him the divorce papers—then I switched on airplane mode.