Thomas snapped the screen off, his swagger inflating further.

"You heard me?" he said. "Remove the old man and the mutant. Ban them from the mall permanently."

The boutique manager maintained perfect courtesy but stood firm. "Sir, do you even realize who you're speaking to?"

Thomas faltered for a split second, his suspicious gaze flicking toward me. The photo had shaken me to my core, but I stepped forward, my voice like ice. "Say it again. Who is your girlfriend?"

Thomas scanned the sea of doubtful faces, then erupted. "Imogen Slater, CEO of the Slater Group!"

A snicker escaped someone in the crowd. Laughter rippled outward like a wave.

Thomas hurled the shoebox to the floor. "You dare mock me? I'll have Imogen fire every single one of you!"

The manager sighed, ready to explain, but I raised a hand to stop him, facing Thomas's anger head-on. "They say Imogen Slater is beautiful and wealthy, with a lot of admirers. How do we know you're not just another impostor? Prove it with maybe a phone call?"

Thomas fumbled for his phone, all thunder and bravado. "Laugh while you can! I'll make you regret this!"

A growing crowd pressed against the glass doors outside, eager for the spectacle. He dialed repeatedly, but each attempt met the same automated voice: "The subscriber you have reached is powered off."

His bravado crumbled, and he spat, "Just you wait!"

He scooped up his shoes and bolted for the exit. The staff members shrugged and returned to their routines.

The manager bit his tongue, looking troubled. Reading his mind, I reached for my phone and called Imogen, but her phone was switched off.

One instance might be a coincidence. Two identical failures formed a pattern.

I clenched my fists until the muscles ached. A slow chill spread through me.

That afternoon, I walked Simon to school. The whole incident felt like a splinter in my chest, throbbing with every step.

As a member of the parent volunteer group, I was on duty that day to hand out traffic-safety flyers. The other volunteers, ever hungry for gossip, flocked over.

"Abraham, did you see that tweet? Don't brush this off," one said.

They tapped open Thomas's account and analyzed the odds of Imogen having an affair.

"You'd better watch out these days," another chimed in. "Women can be tempted easily. Especially true for someone as outstanding as her."

Just then, the woman who had been unreachable all afternoon called, sounding tired. "Honey, my phone died earlier. Everything okay on your end?"

Before I could answer, she continued breezily, "Oh, and cancel tonight's dinner reservation. I've still got work to handle."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Her assistant had clocked out by five; what work could she possibly have? It was Simon's birthday, so even if a true emergency arose, she should move mountains to be here.

The call ended, but a few moments later, a familiar, brash voice burst through the doorway. "Hello everyone, I'm Lotta's uncle, newly joined the volunteer group. Nice to meet you all."

Every jaw in the vicinity dropped, while my eyelids twitched at the sight of him.

Thomas's cheerful grin curdled instantly upon spotting me. "It's you again!"

He pointed at my nose and raised his chin. "Actually, this is perfect. Saves me the trouble of tracking you down. My girlfriend is picking me up tonight. We'll see who's been lying."

The others exchanged awkward looks, while something in me snapped. I could no longer tolerate this persistent, poison-tinged connection.

My open palm cracked across his cheek with a resounding slap. "In that case, make her come here now!"

Was Imogen cheating on me? It was time to settle the question once and for all.

Thomas's head snapped sideways, his cheek instantly swelling red.

He stared in stunned silence for a heartbeat, then roared with rage. "You dare hit me? I'll smash your face in!"

He charged like a maddened bull, slamming his palm into my forehead. Pain exploded across my skull, making my vision swim.

The other volunteers finally snapped out of their shock. Some seized his arms; others grabbed his legs.

He shrieked shrilly, thrashing against them. "Let go of me! Imogen will make sure every one of you regrets it!"

The courtyard dissolved into pandemonium. Then a parent bellowed over the chaos, "Stop it! Abraham is Imogen's husband! Hit him again, and we're calling the police!"

Thomas froze, his eyes bulging in disbelief. "What did you say? I am her real boyfriend!"

He swung wildly once more. I blocked the blow and delivered another stinging slap across his face.

"You're out of your mind!" I snapped. "Our kid is already six years old. Shall I fetch the marriage certificate for you to inspect?"

The loud slap echoed through the air, and the tension in the air immediately cooled down.

Thomas cupped his swollen cheek, his teeth grinding audibly. Then he sneered, "So what if you're her husband? She's finished with an old fossil like you. We hook up constantly. Last Thursday, we spent the entire night in a love hotel."

I furrowed my brows, but the anger bubbling inside me gradually dissipated.

Last Thursday was our wedding anniversary. Imogen had spent the whole day by my side. But then, it occurred to me that I had drunk too much and fallen asleep early that night.

Doubt clawed viciously at my gut, but on the surface, I kept my composure and fired off a discreet text to my lawyer, asking about custody arrangements, asset division, and infidelity protocols.

I hesitated about telling my parents when a message came.

Imogen: [Honey, are you still at the volunteer event?]

This was likely a probe into the possibility of me catching her with Thomas, but I forced calm into my reply: [I am. Put off whatever you're doing and come pick me up right now.]

There was a brief pause before she responded with a crying emoji: [Why so worked up? Alright, I'm on my way.]

Her quick agreement didn't shake the unease settling in my chest. It didn't make sense. If she came now, our confrontation would be inevitable.

Thomas waved his phone with manic glee, smirking at me. "She's almost here. Let's see who ends up with egg on their face."

I glanced at the chat window, then at his smug face. The nerves in my body quietly tensed.

Soon, a sleek black car pulled up at the building.

Thomas's eyes lit up, and he eagerly waved his hand. "Babe!"

Imogen stepped out, impeccably dressed in a cream suit, cradling an enormous bouquet of roses.