He told me company policy didn't allow plus-ones. He said this for eight years. Eight years, sixteen corporate retreats, and I had never been to a single one. Today, while organizing some old photo albums, I came across a group picture from his company’s retreat last year. In the front row stood several couples, smiling brightly. I recognized his colleague Dave, standing next to his wife. There was also Kevin Smith from the Sales department, standing next to his wife as well. My husband was standing in the second row. Next to him stood a woman in a white dress. I had lost an identical dress three years ago. 1. I stared at that photo for a long time. A white dress, floral print, cinched waist, hem falling just to the knee. Three years ago, I bought it at the mall for $150. I only wore it once to my mom’s birthday dinner. Later, it just disappeared. I asked Mark about it, and he said the cleaning lady probably lost it by mistake when she was tidying up. I believed him. Now, that dress was on another woman, standing right next to him. I zoomed in on the photo, trying to make out the woman's face. But the resolution was too low; I could only see a blurry outline. Long hair, slim, not very tall. Her hand was resting on Mark’s arm. The gesture was incredibly natural, like she had done it a thousand times. I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened, and Mark walked in. "You're back?" I put my phone down. "Working late again?" "Yeah, wrapping up a project." He took off his shoes. "Did you eat?" "I ate." I watched him walk into the bathroom to wash his hands, his movements the same as always. "Your company retreat to Lake Tahoe is next month," I said. His movements paused for a split second. "Oh?" "I saw Dave's wife post about it on Facebook today. She said she's looking forward to it." Mark turned off the faucet and dried his hands. "That’s the Sales department’s retreat. Our Tech department might not go." "Aren't Sales and Tech going together?" "Depends." He walked out of the bathroom. "Management hasn't finalized it yet." I nodded and didn't ask further. He went into the study to turn on his computer, saying he had some work to catch up on. I sat on the sofa and looked at that photo one more time. It was taken at the entrance of a resort, with a massive, manicured lawn in the background. I recognized the place. Two years ago, when they came back from their retreat, I asked him where they went. He said it was just a rustic cabin in the woods, nothing fun. But the resort in the photo was clearly not a rustic cabin. I opened Yelp and searched the location. Average cost: $250 a night. A four-star resort. So this was the "rustic cabin" he told me about. My phone rang. It was my mom. "Have you had dinner?" "I did." "Where's Mark?" "Working late in the study." "Tell him not to work too hard. He needs to take care of his health." "I know." After hanging up, I walked over to the study door. It was slightly ajar. Mark was on the phone. "...don't worry about next month. I'll handle it." His voice was hushed, as if he was afraid of being overheard. "Alright, let's leave it at that for now." He hung up. I knocked on the door. "Come in." I pushed the door open. "Who was on the phone?" "A client." His eyes never left the screen. "About the project." "Talking to clients this late?" "Yeah, out-of-state client. Time zones." I didn't press him. Walking back to the living room, I saved that group photo to my phone's camera roll. That night in bed, he wrapped his arm around me just like he always did. "Are you tired lately?" he asked. "I'm fine." "The retreat next month... I might be gone for three or four days." "Okay." "You'll be okay at home by yourself, right?" "I'll be fine." He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep." I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing slowly even out. Eight years. Eight years, sixteen corporate retreats. Every single time, he told me company policy prohibited plus-ones. Every single time, I believed him. But in that photo, all the other guys had their wives with them. I was the only one missing. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. His hand was still resting on my waist, warm. Just like always. But suddenly, that hand felt like a stranger's. 2. The next day was Saturday. Mark said he had to go into the office for half a day to take care of some things. "Will you be back for lunch?" "I should be." I watched him leave, then booted up my laptop. I found his company's official website and clicked on the "Employee Events" tab. There were dozens of photos—retreats, annual galas, anniversary parties. I looked through them, one by one. 2016 Retreat, Miami. Mark was in the group photo. Standing next to him was a woman. Not me. 2017 Retreat, Aspen. Mark was in the photo, and standing next to him was the same woman. Still not me. 2018 Retreat, Hawaii. The same woman. 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024. Every single year, in every single photo, that woman was there. She wore different clothes, changed her hairstyles, but her facial features never changed. An oval face, monolids, and a small dimple when she smiled. I didn't know her. I had never seen her in my life. But she had been standing next to my husband for eight solid years. My hands began to shake. I saved those photos to my desktop, one by one. After saving them, I opened Mark's iMessage synced to his iPad. He didn't have a passcode on his devices. He always said we didn't need to hide things from each other. I searched and found a chat history with a "Chloe Bennett." The latest message was from 11 PM last night. Mark: "Did you get home safe?" Chloe: "I did. Thanks for today." Mark: "Get some rest." Chloe: "[Kiss Emoji]" I scrolled up. The day before yesterday. Chloe: "Did you book the hotel for next month's retreat?" Mark: "Yeah, The Ritz-Carlton at Lake Tahoe." Chloe: "The same suite as last year?" Mark: "Yeah, lakeview room." Chloe: "Can't wait~" My stomach began to cramp. I kept scrolling up. A month ago. Mark: "Wear that blue dress for the client dinner." Chloe: "Okay. Are you going to wear a tie?" Mark: "I'll wear the one you gave me." Chloe: "It's a matching couple's set, you know. Don't let anyone catch on." Mark: "So what if they do?" Three months ago. Chloe: "Did your wife ask where you went again?" Mark: "No, she never asks." Chloe: "She's so gullible." Mark: "She's not gullible, she trusts me." Chloe: "Then you better treat her well." Mark: "I know." Six months ago. Chloe: "What should I wear for the annual gala this year?" Mark: "You look beautiful in anything." Chloe: "Your wife isn't coming this time, right?" Mark: "No, she never comes." Chloe: "Then I can dress up a little more." Mark: "Whatever you want." A year ago. Chloe: "Can I post the photos from the Maldives on Instagram?" Mark: "Yeah, just block her from seeing your story." The Maldives. A year ago. I remembered. A year ago at this exact time, I was three months postpartum. He told me the retreat dates conflicted with everything and he had to go. I stayed home alone taking care of our newborn, while he went to the Maldives. With her. I put the iPad down. I felt like I couldn't breathe. The front door opened. Mark was back. "What's wrong?" He noticed my expression. "You look so pale." I looked at him. I had looked at this face for eight years. It was the face I woke up to every morning, the face I saw before falling asleep every night. I thought I knew him so well. But now I realized I didn't know him at all. "Nothing." I stood up. "I'll go make lunch." "Let me do it. You rest." He rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen. I stood rooted to the spot, staring at his back. That back was so familiar too. But so what if it was familiar? She was probably incredibly familiar with his back, too. Maybe even more familiar than I was. 3. On Monday, I took a personal day off from work. I went to Mark's company building. I wasn't there to see him. I went to see Emily from the HR department. Emily was my high school friend. She had been an HR manager at Mark's company for five years. "Well, this is rare! What brings you here?" Emily was surprised. "I was just in the area. Wanted to grab lunch with you." We went to a nearby coffee shop. "Does Mark know you're here?" "I didn't tell him. I wanted to surprise him." Emily smiled. "You two are so sweet." I forced a smile in return. "By the way," I said, pretending to be casual, "Can we bring plus-ones to the retreat next month? I was thinking of tagging along." Emily froze for a second. "Bring plus-ones? Of course you can." "But Mark said company policy doesn't allow it." Emily's expression turned very strange. "There's no such policy. Our company has always allowed plus-ones for the retreats. They even cover half the expenses for family members." My heart stopped beating for a full second. "Always?" "Yeah, it's been like that since I started working here. Didn't you know?" "Mark told me..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Emily saw right through my facade. She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. "Sarah, what's wrong? Did something happen between you and Mark?" "No." I shook my head. "Maybe I just remembered it wrong." "Don't lie to me." Emily lowered her voice. "Tell me... is Mark..." I looked at her without speaking. She let out a heavy sigh. "Actually... I've always wanted to tell you, but I was afraid of ruining your marriage." "Tell me what?" "Every time there's a company retreat, Mark brings a woman with him." My hands began to tremble. "We all thought she was his wife. We thought she was you. But then, one time, I saw the name tag they printed for her. It said 'Chloe Bennett'." Chloe Bennett. I knew it. "Who is she?" "One of Mark's clients. I think she works in foreign trade. They've known each other for years." "How many years?" Emily hesitated. "At least... eight years." Eight years. The exact amount of time Mark and I had been married. "Are you saying they go to all the retreats together?" "Not just retreats." Emily's voice dropped even lower. "Annual galas, client appreciation dinners, the boss's birthday parties... she goes to all of them. When Mark introduces her, he calls her 'my wife'." My wife. Those two words plunged into my heart like a dagger. Eight years. A full eight years. He had taken another woman to every single event, introducing her to everyone. And me, his actual, legal wife—I hadn't been to a single one. "I always assumed that was you..." Emily's eyes turned red. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I should have told you sooner." "It's not your fault." I stood up. "Thank you for telling me." Walking out of the coffee shop, I crouched down on the sidewalk and cried for a long time. Eight years. I waited for him for eight years. I trusted him for eight years. And the result? Eight years of "company policy" was just eight years of lies. For eight years, his colleagues, his bosses, his clients—not a single one of them had ever met me. They all thought Chloe Bennett was his wife. And I was the one kept hidden in the dark.
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