The Wife He Cheated on with His Assistant (Her Marriage in Crisis #79)

1. Elise

— ? —

Elise

Two Weeks Before the Vow Renewal

The thing about marriage is that you don’t notice the cracks until they’re canyons.

I’m standing in the lobby of Reid Technologies, holding a brown paper bag with Connor’s favorite sandwich - turkey and avocado on sourdough, extra tomato, light mayo - and I’m trying to remember the last time he looked at me like I mattered.

It’s been a while. Months, maybe. But that’s normal, right? Six years of marriage, the startup finally taking off, investors breathing down his neck. Of course he’s distracted. Of course he comes home at midnight smelling like coffee and stress. Of course he’s too tired to touch me most nights.

That’s just what marriage looks like after a while. The honeymoon phase ends. Real life begins.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Mrs. Reid!” The receptionist, a perky blonde named Tiffany who always makes me feel ancient at thirty-two, waves me over. “Connor’s in a meeting right now, but you can wait in the lounge if you’d like?”

“I’ll just leave this with Megan,” I say, holding up the bag. “She can bring it to him when he’s done.”

“Oh, she might be in with him, actually. Let me check-”

“It’s fine. I’ll just drop it on her desk.”

I don’t wait for permission. I’ve been coming to this office for four years, back when it was just Connor and two developers crammed into a converted garage. I know my way around.

Megan’s desk sits outside Connor’s corner office, a sleek white setup with a single orchid and a collection of those inspirational quote cards that make me irrationally irritated. She believed she could, so she did. Good vibes only. Boss babe energy.

I’m about to set the sandwich down when I see it.

A framed photo, half-hidden behind her monitor. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all except the light catches the glass, and something about the image makes me pause.

It’s Connor. And Megan. At what looks like a work retreat. There’s a conference banner in the background, some hotel bar with dim lighting and leather booths.

His arm is around her shoulders.

Her head is resting against his chest.

They’re both smiling. Not professional smiles. Real smiles. The kind of smile Connor used to give me when we were dating and I’d say something that made him laugh.

My stomach drops.

Stop it, Elise. It’s just a photo. Colleagues take photos together. It doesn’t mean anything.

But I can’t stop staring at the way his fingers curl around her shoulder. The easy intimacy of the pose. The way she’s leaning into him like she belongs there.

“Oh! Elise!”

I spin around, nearly knocking the photo off the desk.

Megan is standing behind me, a tablet clutched to her chest, her smile bright and sharp as a blade. She’s twenty-six, with the kind of effortless beauty that makes me acutely aware of every fine line on my face, every gray hair I’ve been plucking out in the bathroom mirror.

“I didn’t know you were stopping by,” she says. “Connor didn’t mention it.”

“I wanted to surprise him.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Too high. Too tight. “Brought him lunch.”

“That’s so sweet.” She takes the bag from my hands, her manicured nails brushing my fingers. “He’s been working so hard lately. Barely has time to eat.”

“I know.”

“You’re so lucky to have each other.” She glances at the photo, and something flickers across her face, too fast for me to catch. “That’s from the Austin conference. Your husband is such a great mentor.”

Mentor.

The word lands wrong. Like she’s trying too hard to make it sound innocent.

“He talks about you all the time,” she continues. “Elise this, Elise that. I tell him all the time - you’re such a saint for putting up with his crazy hours.”

The way she says saint makes my skin prickle.

“Well,” I manage, “someone has to keep him fed.”

“I’ll make sure he gets this the second he’s out of his meeting.” She’s still smiling, but her eyes are watching me with an intensity that feels like a challenge. “It was so nice of you to stop by. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

I should say something. Ask about the photo. Ask why she has a framed picture of my husband on her desk like he’s her boyfriend and not her boss.

But I don’t.

Because I’m being ridiculous. I’m being paranoid and insecure and all the things I promised myself I wouldn’t be when I married Connor Reid.

“Tell him I said hi,” I say instead.

“Of course!”

I walk out of the building with my heart pounding and my hands shaking and a voice in my head whispering that something is very, very wrong.

***

By the time Connor gets home that night, I’ve convinced myself I imagined everything.

The photo was innocent. Megan is just friendly. I’m projecting my own insecurities onto a perfectly normal working relationship because I’m stressed about the baby thing and tired of feeling like a ghost in my own marriage.

Connor comes through the door at 10:47 p.m., loosening his tie with one hand while he scrolls through his phone with the other.

“Hey,” he says without looking up. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“I wanted to.”

I’m curled on the couch in my pajamas, pretending to watch a show I haven’t processed a single second of. He drops onto the other end - not next to me, I notice, but a full cushion away - and sighs heavily.

“Long day?”

“Brutal.” He finally sets down his phone, rubbing his eyes. “The Hendricks deal is falling apart. I’ve been in meetings since seven this morning.”

“I stopped by the office. Brought you lunch.”

“Oh. Yeah, Megan mentioned that.” He gives me a tired smile. “Thanks, babe. That was sweet.”

“Did you eat it?”

“What?”

“The sandwich. Did you eat it?”

He pauses. Just for a second. “Yeah. Of course. It was great.”

He’s lying.

I don’t know how I know, but I do. Something in the way his eyes slide away from mine. The slight delay before he answers.

Stop it. You’re being crazy.

“I saw the photo on Megan’s desk,” I say before I can stop myself.

Connor goes still. “What photo?”

“You and her. At the Austin conference. You looked... close.”

The silence stretches between us like a rubber band, and I watch his face for any sign of guilt, any crack in the mask-

Then he laughs.

“Elise. Seriously?” He shakes his head, reaching over to squeeze my knee. “That was a team dinner. The whole department was there. Someone just happened to snap a pic.”

“It looked like more than a team dinner.”

“It was two colleagues at a work event. That’s it.” His voice is patient, but there’s an edge to it now. A hint of irritation. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of my assistant.”

“I’m not jealous. I just-”

“You just what?”

I don’t have an answer. Because he’s right, I’m being jealous. I’m being paranoid and suspicious and exactly the kind of wife I swore I’d never become.

“Forget it,” I mumble. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been stressed lately.”

Connor’s expression softens. He moves closer, pulls me against his side, and I breathe in the familiar scent of him, cologne and coffee and something else, something floral that doesn’t belong-

“I know things have been hard,” he says, pressing a kiss to my hair. “The baby stuff, me working all the time. But we’re good, Elise. I promise.”

I want to believe him. I want to believe him so badly that I push down the doubt, bury it deep where I don’t have to look at it.

“Actually,” he says, pulling back with a smile I haven’t seen in months, “I’ve been thinking. We’ve had a hard year. I want to recommit to us.”

“What do you mean?”

“A vow renewal. For our sixth anniversary.” He takes my hands, and his eyes are bright, earnest - the Connor I fell in love with, finally present again. “Big party. All our friends. Show everyone how strong we are.”

My throat tightens. “You want to renew our vows?”

“I want to remind you - remind us - why we chose each other.” He squeezes my hands. “What do you say?”

I’m crying before I can stop myself. Happy tears, I tell myself. Relief.

He still loves me. He still wants this. I was wrong about everything.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, absolutely, yes.”

He kisses me then, soft and sweet, and I let myself believe that everything is going to be okay.

***

Over the next two weeks, I throw myself into planning.

Venue: the rooftop garden at the Monarch Hotel, with its fairy lights and sunset views. Guest list: two hundred of our closest friends and family. Dress: a simple white gown that makes me feel like a bride again.

Connor insists on hiring a professional event coordinator.

“You shouldn’t have to stress about the details,” he says. “Let someone else handle the logistics while you just enjoy it.”

“I don’t mind-”

“I already found someone. Her name’s Julie. She’s great - comes highly recommended.”

Julie turns out to be a cheerful thirty-something with a clipboard and an aggressive color-coding system. She’s efficient, organized, and weirdly eager to know every detail of what I’m planning.

“What about the processional?” she asks during our third meeting, pen poised over her notebook. “Any special music?”

“I was thinking the same song from our original wedding. ‘At Last’ by Etta James.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Connor mentioned you loved that song.”

I pause. “Connor talked to you about me?”

“Just a little! He wanted to make sure I got all the details right. He’s so thoughtful.” She beams at me. “You’re such a lucky woman, Elise.”

Lucky.

There’s that word again. Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am.

So why do I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to push me off?

***

The night before the vow renewal, I can’t sleep.

Connor is beside me, breathing evenly, dead to the world. I stare at the ceiling and try to name the feeling crawling through my chest.

It’s not excitement. It’s not even nervousness.

It’s dread.

And I don’t know why.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, he recommits to us, and all these doubts disappear.

I close my eyes and force myself to believe it.

I have no idea that by this time tomorrow, my entire life will be in ruins.