My husband had never forgotten his Apple Watch before. So when it lit up on the kitchen counter with a message that said, “Last night was perfect,” I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. He’d told me he’d been working late. I never told him what I’d seen, but when he left the house that morning, I silently followed him.

Until that Thursday, I would have told anyone that Cameron was the easiest man in the world to trust.

Not because it was perfect.

It wasn’t.

Cameron was the easiest man in the world to trust.

She loaded the dishwasher like it was a competitive sport. She never remembered where we kept the batteries. She kept insisting that the fastest route to anywhere included at least one unnecessary shortcut.

But honesty came as naturally to him as breathing.

If his mobile phone rang while he was mowing the lawn, he would shout out the open window: “Can you see who it is?”

When we met up with friends for dinner, I would leave my mobile phone on the table without a second thought.

We had never talked about passwords because we had never needed them.

“Do you see who it is?”

***

A few months earlier, one of my co-workers had confessed to me that she had secretly looked at her husband’s messages.

“It was eating me up inside, Mindy,” she had told me.

Another woman nodded.

“I think everyone ends up taking a look at some point.”

I burst out laughing. “Not me.”

They looked at me. “Never?”

I shook my head. “We’ve never needed it.”

“I think everyone ends up looking at it at some point.”

***

That night, I told Cameron about the conversation while we were folding the clean laundry.

He smiled without looking up from the pile of towels.

“I’d rather you ask me anything than spend all night thinking about it.”

It wasn’t a big statement.

Just another ordinary phrase in an ordinary marriage.

It wasn’t a big statement.

***

Thursday morning started with coffee, bacon, and the sound of Cameron shaving upstairs.

I prepared lunch for him while mentally planning the rest of my day.

I had to do the shopping.

After that, I’ll stop by the bookstore.

I still hadn’t ordered the anniversary gift I’d been thinking about buying for weeks.

I reached into the fruit bowl to pick up a banana.

I prepared lunch for him.

Cameron’s Apple Watch was right there, charging.

I frowned.

He never forgot.

I picked it up, intending to take it upstairs.

The screen lit up. A message appeared.

“Last night was perfect.”

Unnamed.

Just four words.

“Last night was perfect.”

I stared at it until the screen dimmed. The clock face reappeared.

I tapped it. The notification had disappeared.

Upstairs, the bathroom door opened.

I quickly put the clock back exactly where I had found it and headed back to the kitchen just as the bacon started to sizzle louder.

A few seconds later, Cameron entered the kitchen, adjusting his tie.

The notification had disappeared.

“Good morning, Minnie Mouse.”

“Good morning,” I said.

He kissed me on the forehead. He picked up the watch. He put it on his wrist without even looking at the screen.

“It smells wonderful.”

“You say that every Thursday, Cam.”

“Because you make bacon every Thursday, darling.” He grinned from ear to ear and popped a piece straight from the pan into his mouth.

“You say that every Thursday, Cam.”

I would normally have slapped his hand away.

Instead, I just stared at him.

He looked exactly like the man she had kissed goodnight a few hours earlier.

The same man who had called me around six o’clock in the evening the day before.

“It looks like I’m going to be here longer than I thought,” he had told me.

“Is everything alright?”

“It looks like I’m going to be here longer than I thought.”

“Yes. We’re trying to finish something before Friday.”

“I’ll leave you a hot dinner.”

“I’ll make it up to you this weekend.”

He arrived home after ten.

She ate reheated lasagna.

He complained about the spreadsheets.

He gave me a shoulder massage while we watched TV until I fell asleep lying on top of him.

There wasn’t a single moment when I felt strange.

Until now.

I had arrived home after ten o’clock.

***

We brought breakfast to the table.

Local news reports kept talking about the traffic.

Halfway through eating the eggs, Cameron looked at his agenda.

“I’ll probably be back late again tonight.”

I looked up. He noticed.

“That?”.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I’ll probably be late again tonight.”

“You have that face.”

“What face?” I frowned.

“The one that says you’re overthinking.”

I smiled. “I haven’t slept well.”

His expression softened.

“I hate it when that happens to you.” She leaned across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’ll bring you dinner tonight.”

For a second, it almost worked.

I almost forgot the message.

“I hate when that happens.”

Then my gaze fell upon the watch I was wearing on my wrist.

Last night was perfect.

Those words floated in the air during breakfast like an invisible guest that neither of them paid any attention to.

When we finished eating, Cameron rinsed his plate, picked up his laptop bag, and headed towards the garage.

He stopped at the door.

He turned towards me. There was something almost hesitant about his expression, as if he wanted to say something more.

Instead, she smiled.

“I love you”.

“I love you too”.

There was something almost hesitant in his expression.

The garage door opened with a thud.

A moment later, his SUV disappeared down the street.

I stood by the kitchen window long after he had left.

If I asked him about the message tonight, maybe he would tell me the truth.

If he lied to me… I would never know.

If he lied to me… I would never know.

A minute later, I grabbed my bag.

By the time I closed the front door behind me, I still hadn’t decided whether to follow my husband or pursue the first doubt that had arisen in our marriage.

The most sensible thing would have been to stay home.

Instead, I started the car and pulled out onto the street, leaving enough distance for Cameron’s silver SUV to blend into the morning traffic.

The most sensible thing would have been to stay home.

***

At first, everything seemed exactly as it should be.

He headed towards the center.

Towards the office.

I almost burst out laughing at myself.

Perhaps the message was intended for someone else.

Perhaps he had let four words destroy nine years of trust.

I was already thinking about the apology I would never have to give when the right turn signal came on.

Perhaps he had let four words destroy nine years of trust.

He exited via the Station Road exit.

His office wasn’t around there.

I followed him.

Station Road ran through one of the oldest parts of the city, where family businesses had survived long after shopping malls arrived.

Cameron slowed down as he passed a flower shop.

I parked on the other side of the street.

He went inside.

Cameron slowed down as he passed a flower shop.

The seconds felt like an eternity.

I kept telling myself that there had to be a reasonable explanation.

Anniversary flowers.

A client.

Someone in the hospital.

When she came out again, she was carrying a single white rose.

It wasn’t a bouquet.

Just one.

He carefully placed her in the passenger seat before leaving.

When she came out again, she was carrying a single white rose.

I frowned.

A single flower seemed to me… something personal.

I hated that my mind would instantly start speculating.

The next stop only made things worse.

There was a small tailor shop two blocks away.

Cameron came in empty-handed and came back with a bag of navy blue clothes.

He hung it carefully on the back seat.

Flowers.

Freshly ironed clothes.

Another night of staying up late.

The message.

The next stop only made things worse.

I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers hurt.

“Stop doing this,” I whispered to myself. “You don’t know anything yet.”

But doubt is persuasive.

Once it gets into your head, it starts rewriting yesterday.

Suddenly, every meeting that drags on seems suspicious.

Every absent-minded smile takes on a different meaning.

Once it gets into your head, it starts rewriting yesterday.

I realized that I remembered small things that I had previously overlooked.

One Saturday morning he had left early.

A message that made her smile.

One Friday he came home humming a song I didn’t recognize.

None of those moments had caught my attention at the time.

Now they lined up like pieces of a puzzle that I didn’t want to see.

None of those moments had bothered me then.

***

Cameron drove for another fifteen minutes before turning into the Oakridge Community Center parking lot.

I blinked.

This was not a hotel.

Not a single restaurant.

Not even an office building.

A banner near the entrance read:

THURSDAY SOCIAL PARTY IN THE BALLROOM

Ballroom?

This was not a hotel.

I almost smiled.

Cameron didn’t know how to dance.

At our wedding, he stepped on my shoes so many times that my maid of honor joked that she would add steel toe caps to our anniversary gifts.

He parked next to the building, picked up the garment bag and the white rose, and disappeared through a side entrance.

Wait.

One minute.

Then, two.

I should have left.

Instead, I got out of the car.

I should have left.

Music could be heard from far away through the open window.

A piano. Slow. Soft.

I followed the sound down a quiet corridor until I found a narrow window that overlooked a large studio.

Then I froze.

Cameron was standing in the center of the room.

A woman had one hand resting on his shoulder.

Their other hands were intertwined.

A woman had one hand resting on his shoulder.

They moved across the polished floor with perfect rhythm.

One two three.

One two three.

She smiled at him. You smiled back.

She stopped to straighten the front of his shirt. Then she laughed at something he had said.

My stomach tightened.

They moved across the polished floor.

Inside the studio, the music stopped.

The woman clapped her hands.

“No,” he said with an amused smile. “You’re getting there, but you’re not quite there yet.”

He took Cameron’s hands again.

He nodded.

“Let’s try it one more time.”

How many times had they done it already?

How many “late nights” had actually been spent here?

How many times had they done this?

I took a step back.

Then another one.

I couldn’t breathe.

Nine years.

Nine years believing she knew the man she loved.

I turned towards the hallway, desperate to get out before he saw me.

But then another voice stopped me.

The voice of an older man.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

Then another voice stopped me.

I looked towards the room.

An older man had just stepped onto the dance floor.

He stared at the white rose he held in his trembling hands as Cameron approached him with that patient smile he had only seen once before.

The day he taught our nephew to ride a bike.

Confusion arose amidst the anguish.

Who was that man?

And why was my husband looking at him instead of the woman I was so sure was the reason I had followed him?

Who was he?

I stayed where I was.

The older man was in the middle of the dance floor, slowly twirling the white rose between his fingers.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he repeated.

The woman I had assumed was Cameron’s lover smiled kindly.

“That’s what you said last week, Arnie.”

“And the week before,” Cameron added.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

The old man sighed.

“This time I mean it, guys.”

Cameron approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No. This time you’re afraid.”

Silence fell over the room.

“I haven’t asked a woman to dance since I was seventeen,” the older man said. His voice cracked just enough for me to realize he wasn’t joking. “I keep thinking she’s going to laugh.”

“No. This time you’re scared.”

Cameron shook his head.

“No. You can’t stop imagining that she’s going to laugh.”

He picked up the rose and gave it back to her.

“My grandfather used to tell me something.”

The old man looked up.

“I was saying that most people think regret comes from hearing ‘no.'” Cameron smiled warmly. “But the biggest regret comes from never asking at all.”

“Most regret comes from never having asked.”

The man stared at the flower.

“I’ve already wasted fifty-eight years, son.”

“Well, don’t let another five seconds decide for you, Arnie.”

The words settled in the room.

Suddenly I realized that I wasn’t dealing with a secret romance.

I was witnessing an act of borrowed courage.

“I’ve already wasted fifty-eight years, son.”

***

The dance teacher was the first to notice me. Her eyes widened slightly.

Cameron turned around. He went pale.

“Mindy?”

Neither of them moved.

He looked down at the watch on his wrist and then back at me.

“You’ve seen the message.”

I nodded and went inside. “I thought…”

“You’ve seen the message.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I should have told you I was helping someone while I was learning to dance myself. I should have told you enough so you’d never have any reason to doubt us.”

He did not defend himself.

He didn’t ask me why I had followed him.

He just seemed… disappointed in himself.

“I kept telling myself I was protecting Arnold’s privacy,” Cameron admitted quietly.

He didn’t ask me why I had followed him.

“But with each class, he grew a little braver,” she added. “He’d come home dying to tell you, to tell you how he was helping an old man fulfill his dream of learning to dance for his beloved. But then he’d remember he’d promised to keep it a secret.”

He exhaled slowly.

“The worst thing about it all?”

I looked at you. “Yes?”

“I hated walking out the door with something wonderful on my mind and not being able to tell the person I most wanted to tell it to.”

“I was helping an elderly man fulfill his dream of learning to dance for his beloved.”

Something inside me broke.

Not because he was innocent.

But because he fully understood where he had gone wrong.

“I stopped asking questions,” I admitted. “I answered them myself.”

He nodded once.

“And I made it easy for you.”

The instructor smiled apologetically.

“By the way, my name is Grace.” She held up her phone. “And I’m also the idiot who sent you that message.”

“I answered them myself.”

I blinked. “You?”

She laughed. “After each rehearsal, I send the volunteers a message: ‘Last night was perfect.’ It’s just my way of saying thank you.”

Cameron sighed. “I’d forgotten that my watch shows notifications from my phone.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.

Grace smiled. “I’ve never caused so much trouble before.”

“It’s just my way of saying thank you.”

Arnold cleared his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt…”

We all looked at him.

“…but Irene is out there.”

All the color drained from his face.

“Cam, I can’t.” She took a step back. “I really can’t.”

Cameron approached him.

“…but Irene is out there.”

Without thinking, I grabbed Cameron’s wrist.

He stopped. I looked at Arnold.

“I’ve spent all morning believing that the love had silently faded from my marriage,” I told him.

Her eyes met mine.

“I was wrong.”

I gently took the white rose from her trembling hand. Then I placed it back where it belonged.

“Please don’t spend another day wondering what would have happened if you had been brave for five more seconds.”

“I made a mistake”.

Arnold swallowed hard.

“What if she says no?”

“Then you’ll know.” I smiled. “But I don’t think I will.”

He looked towards the door.

A silver-haired woman had just entered.

She was wearing a light blue dress and scanned the room until her eyes landed on Arnold.

A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“What if she says no?”

Arnold took a deep breath, trembling.

Then, another one.

Finally, he approached her.

“Irene…”

She laughed softly.

“Hello, stranger.”

He handed her the rose.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since 1968.”

She waited.

“Would you give me that dance that I was too afraid to ask you for back then?”

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since 1968.”

During a heartbeat that seemed to last forever, nobody said a word.

Then Irene accepted the rose.

“I was starting to think you’d never ask me.”

The room erupted in soft applause.

The music filled the room.

Arnold held out his hand. Irene took it.

His first step was a little clumsy.

The second one wasn’t much better either.

By the time they gave the third one, the two of them were laughing so much that they didn’t care about anything anymore.

“I was starting to think you’d never ask me.”

I slid my hand into Cameron’s.

“Next time,” I whispered to him, “if you’re protecting someone’s hope… tell me that’s what you’re doing.”

He looked at me.

“I will do that”.

“And next time,” he said, squeezing my hand, “I’ll remember that yours comes first.”

I rested my head on his shoulder as Arnold and Irene swayed under the soft lights.

“I will remember that yours comes first.”

“You know…”, I whispered.

“That?”.

“Last night was truly perfect.”

Cameron saw Arnold accidentally step on Irene’s foot. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled. “Almost.” Then he looked at me. “Now it is.”

“Last night was truly perfect.”