That evening, I found myself replaying Sarah’s words. The idea that my husband had orchestrated this without consulting me gnawed at my sense of self. I needed more clarity, and so I turned to our mutual friend, Mark, who had been at the auction.
Meeting at a local café, Mark seemed hesitant, his eyes darting around before settling on his coffee cup. « It was a strange thing to witness, » he admitted, stirring his drink absentmindedly.
« Did he mention anything to you beforehand? » I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mark shook his head. « Just that he wanted to surprise you. But honestly, it felt off. A lot of us were confused. »
His words confirmed my growing suspicion that this wasn’t just a misguided attempt at humor. There was an underlying motive that I still couldn’t grasp.
As I left the café, I knew I couldn’t let this go. I needed to confront him with everything I had learned, to force a conversation that had been brewing beneath the surface for too long.
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