I kept it simple. "With deepest sympathy for your loss." No signature, no name, just that. I didn't need to explain the meaning.
Sophia would understand instantly. Alex, too. While the order was being prepared, I could already picture it. She'd see the lilies she hated, freak out, and he'd get mad when he read the card and realized it was from me.
An hour later, my phone rang. It wasn't Sophia's name on the screen. It was Alex. His name popped up on my screen, and I actually laughed.
I picked up. Alex didn't say a word before he started yelling. "What the hell is wrong with you? You think this is funny?"
"Sending funeral flowers to our room?" Our room. Not her room. He didn't even hesitate before saying it.
I just said, "I sent what I thought was appropriate." "What does that mean?" "It means," I said, calm as ever, "I'm offering my condolences. She just lost something important."
"What? Lost what?" "Her husband." There was a pause while he processed that I knew.
Then he tried to recover with anger. "You're sick. You're actually insane." "Alex," I said, still calm, "you're the one sleeping with another man's wife on their anniversary. Let's not talk about who's insane."
But I could hear people talking in the background, probably hotel staff or nearby guests. Sophia hated scenes, and I knew she'd be trying to hide, crying quietly or frozen in shock, while Alex lost his temper. That's the part I didn't need to witness. Knowing it was happening was enough.
He lowered his voice, trying to sound threatening. "You think this changes anything? She's with me." I almost thanked him for the entertainment.
"Great," I said. "Then you can stay with her. Good luck explaining that to your girlfriend." The silence after that one was longer.
He forgot I knew about her, too. I didn't shout. I didn't insult him. I didn't accuse him of anything.
Me staying calm probably annoyed him even more. He finally hung up on me. She didn't text or call me. That said everything I needed to know.
A few hours later, the tracker dot moved again, this time back toward the mainland. She came home earlier than planned. She must have spent the ferry ride rehearsing excuses. When she finally came through the door that night, she looked exhausted.
No makeup, hair a mess, eyes red and swollen. She could barely look me in the eye. "Daniel, please, it wasn't like that." I didn't respond.
She tried again, her voice shaking. "It just happened. I didn't plan anything. I swear." Still nothing from me.
Then she said the classic line every guilty person thinks will fix everything. "It was just a mistake." I finally looked at her. "You were gone for two days."
She didn't answer. I didn't want to hear excuses. I picked up a folder from the table and placed it in front of her. It was the divorce papers.
She broke down, begging me to reconsider, talking about counseling, saying it was all a mistake. I let her talk until she had nothing left to say. When she finally stopped, I said, "Pack your things." She stared at me, shaking.
"Daniel, please." "Pack your things." After she left, things played out on their own. And the two of them, they didn't last even a week after that trip.
Stuff like that never lasts once reality shows up. Meanwhile, I slept better than I had in months. The card said, "Sympathy for your loss." But the truth was simple.
I didn't lose anything. She did. Sophia stayed with her sister for two days after I told her to pack her things. I didn't block her, but I didn't reach out either.
I wasn't about to listen to more of the same excuses. I thought that would be the end of it. But with Sophia, things always dragged on. On the third night, she knocked on the door again.
It wasn't a gentle knock. It was frantic, almost as if she'd already rehearsed every apology, but none of them worked. I opened the door slightly. She looked awful, face puffy from crying, eyes still red as if she hadn't slept at all.
"Daniel, can we talk, please?" I stepped aside. Not because I wanted to talk, but because I had nothing to hide. She sat on the couch looking really nervous.
"I made a mistake," she said, barely whispering. "I don't even know how it happened. Alex and I, it wasn't serious. It was stupid."
"I don't know why I agreed to the trip." I stayed silent. She wiped her face, looking away. "I thought maybe you didn't care anymore."
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Right," I said. "I showed I didn't care by buying you a bracelet for our anniversary. That makes perfect sense."
She looked down, embarrassed. Then came the usual apology speech, the one everyone who's cheated gives. "I'm willing to fight for this marriage. I'll cut him off."