A notification appeared in the corner of the screen. "Saturday is going to be incredible. Can't wait to finally meet you. " I stood there for several seconds, then I sat down. The message came from a private group chat. Deborah's name wasn't visible.
She was using a username I didn't recognize. I opened the conversation. That was when I understood the patio conversation. It hadn't been spontaneous. She had joined the group weeks earlier.
There were messages about a private event at a rented house outside the city. Couples, singles, rules, guest lists, and there was Deborah. Not asking questions, participating. One message from 4 days before our conversation stood out. Someone had asked if she was bringing her fiance.
Deborah had answered, "I'm working on him. If not, I'll figure it out. " I read it twice. Then a second message appeared below it. "He's more traditional than me, but he doesn't own me. " I leaned back in my chair. There it was.
The truth, plain and simple. She hadn't brought up the party because she wanted to explore something with me. She had brought it up because she wanted to know whether I would stand in her way. I closed the laptop and walked outside. When Deborah came home later, she kissed me on the cheek and started talking about the florist.
I let her talk. I watched her carefully. She had no idea what I knew, and I had no intention of warning her. Saturday was 2 days away. I decided I would let Deborah make her choice, but I was done pretending I didn't see where this was going.
Saturday arrived, and Deborah spent most of the afternoon getting ready. She showered, did her hair, and changed outfits three times. At one point, I passed the bedroom. She was standing in front of the mirror adjusting her earrings. I went back downstairs and made coffee.
A few minutes later, she came downstairs wearing a black dress I had never seen before. She stopped when she saw me. "What? " "Nothing. " "You've been staring at me. " "I was wondering where you're going. " She picked up her purse. "I told you about the party. " "No, you told me about a party. You never told me you were actually going.
Her face tightened. I knew you'd react like this. I already told you how I felt. She looked toward the door. I'm going for a few hours.
By yourself? Yes. I stood up. You're not going there alone. She gave me a cold smile.
You're not my father, Steven. I know, I'm your fiance. Exactly, my fiance, not my owner. I walked closer. I never said I owned you.
You can go wherever you want, but don't confuse that with me agreeing to marry someone who wants to sleep with other people. Her expression hardened. It's not necessarily about intimacy. Then why are you dressed like you're going to meet someone? She didn't answer.
I nodded. That's what I thought. She grabbed her keys. You are making this into something it isn't. No, you already made it something it wasn't.
She stopped. I continued. I found the messages. The color left her face. What messages?
The group chat, the private party, you telling them you'd go even if I didn't. She stared at me. You went through my laptop? You left it open. That's still invading my privacy.
You were planning to meet strangers behind my back 7 weeks before our wedding. Don't lecture me about privacy. She looked away. Then she said, I was going to tell you. When?