Chapter 3: Tipping the Scales

That night, I went out drinking with my friends at O’Malley’s. The air was thick with the smell of fries and spilled beer, music low in the background. I lost track of time, tossing back shots and laughing at dumb jokes until it was way past midnight.

Rachel called me over and over, but I let the phone buzz on the sticky bar top, ignoring the worried texts piling up. Finally, I just turned it off. Let her wait up for once.

By the time I stumbled in, she was pacing the living room, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. I was tipsy but kept my pride—shrugging off her hand when she tried to steady me.

I felt my way down the hallway, shoes thumping on the hardwood, and collapsed into bed without bothering to shower.

Rachel’s always been a stickler for her rules—no outside clothes in bed, ever. I’d always respected her boundaries. But when did she ever respect mine?

I fell asleep instantly, drifting into a heavy, dreamless blackness.

After that night, Rachel turned on the charm—making me breakfast every morning, sending good-morning texts with cheesy memes, sometimes even dropping by my office with takeout when I had to work late.

She seemed determined to prove, through action, that she could be better—a kinder, more attentive wife.

That lasted until today. For once, I got off work early. Rachel texted me, said she was craving Italian, and there was a new spot near her yoga studio she wanted to try.

I agreed, driving straight there after shutting my laptop. The restaurant was all exposed brick and soft lighting. I arrived early, flipping through the menu, when I looked up and saw Rachel and Jake strolling in together, laughing about something. My stomach tightened.

A server in a Mets cap dropped off garlic knots, the scent making my stomach twist. I pulled out my phone and fired off a text to someone.

Jake slid into the booth across from me, grinning. “Sorry to crash your date, man. I just happened to be in the neighborhood and Rach mentioned this place. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I said, deadpan.

“How about this, dinner’s on me, to make up for it.”

He flashed a smile. “By the way, Rach gave me that suit you tried on last time—I haven’t thanked her yet.”

I shot Rachel a look. So she bought him the suit after all, behind my back.

Rachel fiddled with her napkin, cheeks pink. “It really was just a coincidence today. Jake’s not an outsider—more people, more fun.”

Jake grinned, giving Rachel a friendly pat on the shoulder. “See how nervous you are? Sam and I have known each other for years. What’s a little dinner?”

Rachel shot me a look, then ducked out from under his hand. “Just talk, don’t randomly pat me.”

Jake looked a little surprised, arching his eyebrows, then gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Alright, alright, let’s order. My treat—go wild.”

Rachel pulled out her phone to order from the restaurant’s app. “I won’t be shy, then.”

Jake leaned in to look at her screen, their heads almost touching. The sight made my blood run cold—it was like I was watching some couple’s date, and I was the extra.

They laughed and whispered as they scrolled through the menu. Jake glanced up at me, like he was hosting a party. “Sam, see anything you want? Let Rach add it.”

“Hang on.”

I stood, waving at a girl near the entrance—a slim figure in a sky-blue dress, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, phone clutched in one hand.

She walked over quickly, offering a bright, apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late!”

I pulled out a chair for her, feeling Rachel’s eyes on us. “No worries, Emily. We just ordered, but check the menu in case you want something else.”

Rachel’s gaze could’ve cut glass. “Honey, who is this?”