But the fear… the fear was a cold stone in my gut.

Two weeks ago, Mark had presented me with a box the size of a suitcase, tied with a satin ribbon. Inside was the most exquisite evening gown I had ever seen—deep emerald green, shimmering like a beetle’s wing.

“This is for your celebration,” Mark had said, his smile tight, his eyes watching me closely. “I ordered it from Ms. Evelyn Reed. She’s the best. I want you to be the most beautiful woman there.”

I had cried. Mark wasn’t a romantic. His gifts were usually blenders or gift cards. This level of thought, of care, was unprecedented. But there was an edge to his generosity.

“You absolutely must wear this dress,” he had insisted, gripping my shoulders a little too hard. “No other dress will do. You understand? It has to be this one.”