Let There Be Darkness

I have a secret.

Whenever I touch someone, I can see the face of the person they love most in their heart.

Ever since Petter moved next door when I was seven, his heart held only me. At eighteen, when he first took my hand, it was me. At twenty-two, when he proposed, it was me. On our wedding night, when he kissed me, it was still me.

On the morning of our third anniversary, I was adjusting his collar. As my fingers brushed his Adams apple, I habitually closed my eyes.

I saw two faces. One was mine. The other belonged to a complete stranger.

That night, Petter's phone screen lit up on the nightstand: Thanks for spending the day with me, Petter.

Twenty-one years. One hundred thousand touches. This was the first time my gift had ever shown me another face.

For our anniversary, I had booked a table at a quiet restaurant a month in advance. I wore the red dress he had once praised, and the pearl earrings he had given me.

At six in the evening, just as I was putting on the second earring, my phone rang.

"Last-minute business trip, Valerie. I won't make it back tonight," his voice was rushed, and he hung up before I could reply.

It was the first time in our entire relationship that he had ever hung up on me first.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. One earring was in, the other hung loosely between my fingers.

My best friend, Serena, called a few minutes later, offering to keep me company. She drove over, picked me up, and took me to a steakhouse downtown.

But as she pulled into the parking lot, my hand froze on the car door handle.

Through the large glass window of the restaurant, I saw Petter.

He was sitting at a table by the window. Opposite him sat a young woman, perhaps twenty-five, with deep dimples when she laughed. Petter reached across the table, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of cream from the corner of her mouth.

It was a gesture he had done for me since we were eighteen.

Serena saw them too, her grip tightening on the steering wheel as she prepared to storm inside. I held her back.

"Don't," I said softly.

"Who is she, Valerie?"

"I don't know."

At eleven that night, Petter came home. He brought a bouquet of red roses, just as he did every year.

After his shower, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry about today, Valerie. I promise Ill make it up to you soon."

I closed my eyes.

Two faces flickered back and forth in my mind: mine and that other womans. Fifty-fifty.

For the first time in twenty-one years, I saw someone else in his heart.

Once he fell asleep, I picked up his phone. The password was still my birthday.

A contact named Sienna was pinned to the top of his chat list. The messages began six months ago, slowly shifting from formal work updates to daily banter, from simple acknowledgments to quiet "goodnight" texts.

I'm in a bad mood today, I want something sweet, she had written in one message.

I'll bring you a Napoleon pastry from the bakery downstairs, he replied.

Another message from her read: The restaurant you recommended wasn't very good when I went alone. Next time, you have to come with me.

The latest text was the one from that evening: Thanks for spending the day with me, Petter.

I put the phone back and lay down in the dark. Petter rolled over, instinctively pulling me into his chest, murmuring something half-asleep.

"Who did you spend the day with?" I whispered into the quiet room.

"A client," he mumbled, tightening his grip around me.

I didn't ask anything else.

The next morning, he kissed my forehead before leaving for work. "I really couldn't get away yesterday, sweetheart. I'll take you to the hot springs this weekend." He smiled, looking exactly like the man I had always known.

I watched him for a moment before replying, "Okay."

After he left, I folded the red dress and placed it at the very bottom of my closet.

Serena called me at noon to check on me. The line was quiet for several seconds before she spoke. "Valerie, you've only ever looked at him since you were seven."

"I know."

"What are you going to do now?"

I looked out the window. The autumn sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. "I don't know."

Later that afternoon, I went to his office.

In the elevator, I ran into Sienna. She recognized me instantly, offering a polite, easy smile as she extended her hand. "Hi, Mrs. Petter. I'm Sienna, Mr. Petters assistant."

She was poised and entirely natural.

She pressed the button for our floor, stepping back to stand beside me. Her phone rang, and she answered it with a quiet laugh. "Petter? Oh, he rarely eats lunch. Just coffee, usually. It's a habit of his."

After hanging up, she smiled at me. "Are you here to have lunch with him?"

The elevator doors slid open, and I didn't answer.

In his office, Petter was buried in paperwork, his head bowed. I placed the thermal lunchbox on his desk.

"Do you really skip lunch?"

"Sometimes, when it gets busy," he said, not looking up.

Sienna knocked and walked in with a folder. Glancing at the lunchbox, she smiled. "You're so thoughtful, Mrs. Petter. He mentioned wanting braised ribs last week, and you made them."

My hand froze as I was serving him the food. Petter kept eating, his head still down.

Once Sienna left, the office fell quiet.

"She seems to know you very well," I observed.

"Who?"

"Your assistant. She knows you skip lunch, and she knows you only drink coffee."

He set his chopsticks down. "Valerie, she's my assistant. Knowing my daily habits is literally her job."

"Is it?"

"What is going on with you lately?" he sighed, looking tired. "You're the only one in my heart."

He picked up his chopsticks and went back to his meal.

That night, he worked late in his study. When I brought him a glass of milk at ten, his phone screen was glowing with a selfie Sienna had just sent him. The moment he noticed me, he flipped the phone face down on the desk.

"Just work stuff," he said.

"I didn't ask," I replied, setting the glass down and walking out.

My hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment, but he didn't call after me.

On Sunday, he tried to make up for our missed anniversary.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the hostess smiled warmly. "Mr. Petter, your usual table?"

It was the second booth by the window, the exact spot I had seen him with Sienna.

As we sat down, I stared at the empty chair across from me. "Do you bring other people here?"

His hand tensed as he poured my water. "Just clients. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. It's a nice view."

When he returned from the restroom, he placed a piece of food on my plate.

"Petter, do you ever feel like there's another person standing between us?"

His hand paused mid-air as he was peeling a shrimp, but he quickly recovered. "Who would be between us? Why are you saying things like this?"

"No reason. Just a thought."

After dinner, his phone buzzed. I caught a glimpse of the screen as he tilted it away.

See you tomorrow, Petter, Sienna had written.

He sent a quick emoji in response, locked the screen, and took my hand. "Let's go home."

I let him lead me down the street, looking down at our joined hands. The streetlights cast our long, overlapping shadows on the pavement.

I remembered when he first held my hand at eighteen. Back then, if I closed my eyes, my mind was filled with nothing but his face.

I closed my eyes and lightly touched his wrist.

The two faces were still there, mine and Siennas, perfectly equal.

He turned to look at me, noticing I had stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, catching up to his pace. He squeezed my hand, a gesture that felt entirely natural, exactly as it always had.

But I knew everything had changed.

At eleven that night, I went to his study with another glass of milk.

The door was slightly ajar. I could hear him on the phone, his voice carrying a soft, tender tone I hadn't heard in a very long time. "Yeah, go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow. I miss you too."

He hung up, looking startled when he saw me standing in the doorway. "Why are you still awake?"

"Do you always speak to your staff so gently?"

"It was just a normal conversation, Valerie. Don't let your imagination run wild."

Without a word, I turned and walked away. A moment later, I heard the heavy click of his study door closing. He had never closed that door before.

I waited in our room for twenty minutes. When he finally walked in and saw me sitting up, I looked at him.

"Petter, theres something I need to tell you. Ive had a secret since I was a child. Whenever I touch someone, I can see the face of the person they love most in their heart."

He froze, his jacket half-off.

"When I touched you at seven, I saw myself. When you held my hand at eighteen, it was me. When you proposed, it was me."

"But on our anniversary, when I adjusted your collar, I saw two faces: mine and Sienna's."

The silence in the bedroom was deafening. Then, he let out a dry, nervous laugh. "You have quite the imagination, Valerie. Have you been spending too much time alone lately?"

"I am telling you the absolute truth."

The smile vanished from his face. "Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should schedule an appointment with a doctor."

I stood up and reached for his hand. "Let me touch you right now. Close your eyes and think of the person you love, and I'll tell you who it is."

He snatched his hand back.

It wasn't a violent gesture, but it was incredibly deliberate. "Valerie, enough! If you have a problem with Sienna, talk to me. She has a boyfriend, and this kind of baseless suspicion is incredibly unfair to her."

He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the house.

I stood in the center of the room, my hand still empty in the air.

He didn't return until two in the morning, smelling of cold wind and cigarette smoke. I pretended to be asleep as he quietly climbed into bed and pulled me into his arms.

I closed my eyes.

Only one face remained. It was Sienna's.

My face was completely gone.

His arm was draped over my waist, his warm breath brushing against my neck, but for the first time in twenty-one years, I couldn't find myself in his heart.

I gently slipped out of his embrace. He murmured something in his sleep, but didn't wake. Once his breathing evened out, I packed a small bag and moved into the guest room.

At breakfast the next morning, he noticed my slippers by the guest room door. "Why did you sleep in there?"

"I had insomnia, and I didn't want to keep you awake."

"Oh," he murmured, his eyes already returning to his phone screen. He didn't ask anything else.

Three days after moving into the guest room, I stared at the two pink lines on a pregnancy test.

A blood test at the clinic confirmed I was six weeks pregnant. I slid the ultrasound photo into the pages of my journal, writing a single sentence on the blank page: By the time you arrived, your father's heart was already empty of your mother.

Later that afternoon, I went to his office building.

Just as I arrived, I saw his car parked near the entrance. Petter was opening the passenger door for Sienna, holding his hand over her head to protect her from the low frame as she climbed inside.

That seat had always been mine. That gentle gesture had once belonged only to me.

"Let's go back," I told the taxi driver.

I clutched my bag, the ultrasound report inside pressing against my fingers, but I didn't call him.

When he came home that evening, I was waiting in the living room. "I went to your office today."

He didn't stop untying his shoes. "Why didn't you come up?"

"If I had, what would I have said?"

He looked up at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "What is it now, Valerie?"

"I saw you open the passenger door for her. I saw you protect her head. You used to only do that for me."

He let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "She's my assistant, Valerie. Opening the door is basic courtesy. You never used to be like this. You used to be so understanding, so mature."

"Understanding? So the things you did for me can be handed to anyone, and if I care, I'm being immature? Is that what you mean?"

He rubbed his temples. "I've had a long, exhausting day. I don't want to fight about this."

He walked into his study and shut the door.

The next day, I sent him a text asking him to make time to accompany me to a doctor's appointment.

Sure, he replied.

But at seven the following morning, a message popped up on my phone: An urgent business trip came up, I'll be back the day after tomorrow. Have the driver take you if you're not feeling well. Love you, Petter.

I tried calling him, but his phone was switched off.

When I called his secretary, the young woman sounded confused. "Mr. Petter doesn't have any travel scheduled for today, Mrs. Petter."

I took a cab to the hospital alone.

Sitting in the corridor, I watched the couples around me: a husband kneeling to tie his wife's shoes, another supporting his wife as they walked slowly down the hall. I sat in my seat, utterly alone.

The doctor reviewed my charts with a frown. "Your progesterone levels are dangerously low, and there's a significant risk of miscarriage. Is your husband here?"

"He's out of town on business," I said quietly.

She didn't press further, handing me the consent forms to sign myself.

While waiting for my hormone injections, I scrolled through social media and saw Siennas latest post: a series of photos of a sunset on a beach.

The caption read: Someone said he wanted to see the ocean when he was stressed, so he dragged me along. Its so nice to be pampered by the boss.

In the corner of the last photo, there was a man's hand resting on the table. On his ring finger was the white-gold band that matched the one on my left hand.

That night, the severe cramping began.

I took a cab to the emergency room alone, and the nurses rushed me straight into the operating room.

"Is it gone?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"The pregnancy has terminated, we need to perform a quick procedure to clear the tissue. Is your husband on his way?"

"I'll sign the forms myself."

By the time the surgery was over, it was three in the morning. I sat in the cold hallway, calling his number repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail.

Finally, I sent him a text: Petter, something happened. Please come back.

He didn't call back until the following afternoon. Through the receiver, I could hear the sound of crashing waves and a car engine starting.

"I just landed, Valerie. Whats going on?"

Ignoring the sharp ache in my body, I kept my voice flat. "Its already been taken care of."

"Oh, good. Ill be home tonight, and Ill bring back some fresh seafood."

He arrived later that evening, placing a bag of crabs on the kitchen counter. "I got these for you. Ill steam them tomorrow."

I didn't say a word.

Noticing my pale face, he stepped closer, reaching out to touch my forehead. I stepped back, evading his hand.

"I have something to tell you. I was preg"

Before I could finish, his phone rang, playing the custom ringtone he had set for Sienna. His expression softened instantly, a look I knew all too well.

He held up a finger, asking me to wait, and quickly answered. "Sienna? Whats wrong?"

Even though his phone wasn't on speaker, the quiet room allowed me to hear her trembling voice clearly. "Petter, I think I have a fever. My whole body aches, and I don't think I can..."

"Have you taken your temperature? What is it?"

"101.3."

He was already walking toward the door, reaching for his keys. "Stay there. Im coming over."

Only as he reached the door did he remember I was standing there. "Valerie, Sienna has a severe fever and shes entirely alone. I need to go check on her, but Ill be back as soon as I can. Well talk about whatever you wanted to say when I get back."

The words died in my throat.

The front door clicked shut, and his footsteps faded down the hall.

The apartment was dead silent. On the counter, the bag of crabs sat in its plastic wrapping.

The very last spark of love I had for him finally went out.