How I Handled an Awkward Moment at My Husband’s Work Event

A serious man in a suit | Source: Pexels

Was she an ex? I wondered, a prickle of unease starting in my gut. Did they have a history? Is that why she’s looking at me like that? I smiled back, tighter than I intended. “And you are…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she laughed softly, a sound that held a surprising hint of melancholy. “My manners. I’m just… glad you’re here tonight. It means a lot to him. To have you both.”

The word “both” hung in the air, a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor. It felt… off. I glanced instinctively at my husband, who was still chatting away, his back to us. My heart did a strange little flutter. Both? What did she mean? Was she referring to us as a couple? Or was there another “both”?

I tried to shake it off. Just an awkward social interaction, I told myself. She probably meant ‘you both as a couple make him happy.’ But the unease persisted, a dull ache behind my ribs. I made polite conversation for a few more minutes, her replies perfectly charming, yet still carrying that subtle undertone of something unsaid. Something known.

The rest of the night, I watched my husband. Did he look at her? Did their paths cross? They didn’t. Not overtly. He was the picture of a devoted partner, introducing me to his colleagues, making sure my glass was full. Yet, every time he smiled at me, a tiny voice whispered, Does he know what she knows?

The drive home was quiet. He talked about a new client, a potential promotion. I feigned interest, my mind replaying the encounter. “Who was that woman?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “The one with the long dark hair, who spoke to me earlier? Said she was glad I was there.”

A serious man standing with his arms folded | Source: Pexels
A serious man standing with his arms folded | Source: Pexels

He frowned, concentration etched on his face from the winding road. “Which one? Oh, you mean… probably just someone from accounting. Or maybe HR. I don’t keep track of everyone, love. You meet hundreds of people at these things.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, and the subject was closed.

But it wasn’t closed for me. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay next to him, listening to his steady breathing, the images of her serene smile and knowing eyes swirling in my head. The word “both.” It burrowed under my skin.

The next few weeks were a blur of growing paranoia. I found myself scrutinizing his phone, though I never dared to open it. I checked his emails, his browser history – anything for a clue. I was being ridiculous, I chided myself. He loves you. This is just your insecurity talking. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. It escalated, an insidious poison spreading through my mind.

One evening, he left his laptop open on the kitchen counter, logged into his personal email. My heart hammered. Just a quick peek. I told myself I was looking for a grocery list he might have sent, a bill we needed to pay. But my fingers hovered, then moved to the search bar. I typed in her first name.

Nothing. Not in his emails. Not in his contacts. See? I thought, a wave of relief washing over me. You’re crazy.

But then, my gaze fell on the desktop. A folder. Labeled innocuously: “Project X.” My gut twisted. He never used code names for work. He was meticulously organized.

A sad woman | Source: Pexels
A sad woman | Source: Pexels

With trembling fingers, I clicked. Inside, wasn’t documents or spreadsheets. It was photos.

Dozens of them.

Photos of him. Smiling, laughing. And next to him, a different woman. Not the one from the gala. This woman was younger, with bright, sparkling eyes and a cascade of fiery red hair. They were everywhere: at the beach, in a cozy cafe, standing in front of a quaint little house I didn’t recognize.

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