Clare was folding Andrews shirts for the wash when her fingers brushed the inner pocket of his navy blazer and felt a thick piece of paper. She pulled it out, opened the envelope, and stared at two airline tickets to the Maldives. The departure date was two weeks away, the return in ten days, firstclass. One ticket bore the name Andrew Sullivan, the other read Blythe Sullivan.
Her heart missed a beat. Blythe? There was no Blythe Sullivan in the family tree. Twentyfive years of marriage and suddenlyBlythe.
Could it be a mistake? A typo? she thought, but the second name was printed cleanly, without error. Not Clare Sullivan, but Blythe.
Clare slipped the tickets back into the envelope and shoved it into the blazers pocket, her hands trembling, her throat dry. She needed to collect herself. Andrew would be home from work in an hour, and she had to decide what to do.
She drifted into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat by the window. In a quartercentury together they had weathered spats, cold spells, misunderstandings. Infidelity? The word never crossed her mind. Andrew had always seemed solid, dependable. They had met on a group trek up Ben Nevis, shared hikes through the Lake District, weekend trips to the Scottish Highlands, and, after the wedding, occasional getaways that grew rarer as careers and chores took over.
The last holiday they had taken together was three years earlier, a twoweek stay in Cornwall. Andrew had promised a foreign adventure the following summer, but work swallowed the planfirst her deadline, then his. Now it seemed he was booking the Maldives, but not with her.
She dialed the number of her old friend, Olive.
Olive, love, can you talk? Clares voice wavered.
Clare? Whats wrong? Olives tone snapped to alert.
I found tickets to the Maldives in Andrews coat. One in his name, the other in Blythe Sullivans name.
A pause, then Olives cautious reply: Maybe its an administrative error? A business trip?
A business trip to the Maldives? Clare laughed bitterly. And why would Blythe also be a Sullivan?
Youre right, thats odd. Olive agreed. What are you going to do?
I dont know, Clare sighed. Wait for him to explain? Maybe theres a reason.
What if there isnt? Olive pressed gently. Youve been together forever, but people do change, especially men at his age.
Andrew isnt that kind of man, Clare snapped, though doubt flickered inside.
All say that until they face the truth. Olive sighed. Why not ask him straight away? Show him the tickets and demand an answer.
And if he lies?
Youve lived with him twentyfive years. Youll know a lie when you feel it.
Clare thought of it. They had learned each others habitsor so she believed.
Alright, Ill think about it, she said finally. Thanks, Olive.
She hung up and sat still, memories swirling: Andrews late evenings at the office, sudden important meetings on weekends, his new shirts, expensive cologne, a trendy haircut. He had never cared for such things before.
She steadied herself. No point drifting into fantasy; she needed facts. She walked to Andrews studya tidy room he kept immaculate. On the desk sat his computer; the password was the day they married. She opened his email, feeling a pang of guilt, and scanned the inbox. Nothing alarmingwork correspondence, newsletters, a note from an old university mate.
Then she checked his browsing history. A surprise waited: searches for best Maldives resorts for couples, romantic Maldives getaways, what to bring to the Maldives. The last query read gift for beloved woman in the Maldives.
A surge of breath left her lungs. Beloved woman, not wife.
She closed the browser, turned off the PC, and fought back tears. She could not let Andrew see her break.
When Andrew finally slipped through the front door, his coat in hand, he kissed her cheek as he always did.
Hey love, whats for dinner? he asked, inhaling the aroma.
Chicken and mushroom casserole, Clare replied, trying to keep her voice steady. Your favourite.
Lovely, Im starving. He disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands.
They ate, chatting about weather, headlines, weekend plans. Clare watched him, hunting for a flicker of guilt, but he talked about work, asked about her day, made a joke.
So any trips coming up? she asked, pouring tea.
Nothing set yet, he shrugged. Why?
Just thinking maybe we could get away somewhere together. Its been ages.
He stared at her a moment, as if weighing a secret, then smiled weakly. Yes, its been too long. Well think of something.
Clare felt a knot tighten. He was lying, she thought, right there in the kitchen, his eyes meeting hers.
What destination would you like? she continued, casual. Maybe the sea? The Maldives, for instance?
He winced just a fraction, a twitch Clare caught.
The Maldives? he said, nervous. Why the Maldives?
Just an example, she shrugged. They say its beautiful. Would you like to go?
I havent thought about it, he said, glancing away. Probably too pricey, too far.
Lies, lies, she muttered silently, the lump in her throat growing.
Whos Blythe? she asked suddenly.
Andrew froze, teacup halfway to his lips.
What Blythe? he asked.
Blythe Sullivan. Do you know her?
What? He started, then cut himself off. Clare, whats happening?
She rose, fetched the blazer from the coat rack, and placed the envelope on the table.
I found this today while doing the laundry. Explain, please.
Andrew stared at the tickets as if seeing them for the first time, then looked up at her.
This isnt what you think.
What do you think I think, Andrew? she whispered. That youre flying to the Maldives with another woman? That twentyfive years mean nothing to you?
No, its not he snapped, standing abruptly. Its not like that at all!
How? tears finally spilled over. Who is Blythe? Why are you lying to me?
Andrew moved toward her, tried to embrace her, but she stepped back.
Dont, she said. Just tell me the truth.
He sighed heavily.
Alright. The truth is He hesitated. Dammit, its not what I planned.
Its certainly not, Clare said bitterly.
No, you dont understand, he rubbed his forehead. I need to show you something. Wait a minute.
He left the kitchen, returning with his laptop.
Look, he said, opening his mail and scrolling to a message from a travel agency. I booked these tickets a month agofor us.
Clare eyed the screen skeptically. The email indeed confirmed two tickets to the Maldives, hotel reservations for Andrew and Clare Sullivan.
But why is the name Blythe on the ticket?
Andrew scrolled down.
Read this, he said. Dear Mr. Sullivan, an error occurred when issuing the tickets. Your spouses name was entered incorrectly. We apologise. New tickets will be issued within three working days. The email arrived this morning. I havent had a chance to tell you.
Clare read the note over and over, disbelief tightening her chest.
So these tickets are for us? Her voice trembled.
Yes, for us! Andrew took her hands. I wanted to surprise you for our silver wedding. Twentyfive years is a big deal. Ive been saving, planning the resort, everything.
Why didnt you say anything? And where did Blythe come from?
I wanted it to be a surprise, he said sheepishly. The name mixup is a system glitch. I have no idea how Blythe got in there.
Clare stared at him, trying to reconcile the story. Had she imagined the whole thing? Had she built a drama on a phantom?
Im sorry, she whispered. I look foolish.
No, Andrew brushed her cheek. I get why youd think I could be with someone else. But I swear, youre the only woman I love.
Ive noticed youve changed, she admitted. New shirts, the haircut, staying late. I assumed
Ive been taking extra projects to afford this trip, he interrupted. I wanted to look presentable for you, for the Maldives.
Shame flushed her face. How could she have doubted him?
Im sorry, she said, hugging him. I ruined the surprise.
You didnt ruin anything, he held her tighter. The surprise just got delayed. You still want to go to the Maldives?
With you, anywhere, she replied through tears.
That night she lay awake while Andrews steady breathing filled the room. She stared at the ceiling, thinking how a single doubt could crumble a lifetime of trust, like a house of cards tumbling in a gust of wind.
In the morning, after Andrew left for the office, Clare called the travel agency. The operator confirmed the booking error and promised fresh tickets would be delivered by courier that day.
Do you know where the name Blythe came from? Clare asked.
The system glitches when its overloaded, the woman explained. We had a promotion on Maldives trips, and data got crossed.
Clare thanked her, feeling a weight lift, as if morning mist had retreated under the sun.
When Andrew returned that evening, the table was set with candles, a bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket.
What are we celebrating? he asked, surprised.
Us, Clare answered simply. And our upcoming trip.
Andrew smiled, pulling a fresh envelope from his pocket.
Here are the new ticketsdefinitely under your name.
Clare opened it, revealing two tickets: Andrew Sullivan and Clare Sullivan.
Thank you, she said, meeting his eyes. For everything.
And thank you, he replied earnestly. For believing in me after twentyfive years, and for the next twentyfive.
They clinked glasses. Snow drifted outside, blanketing the city in white, while the flat glowed warm and cosy. Clare felt grateful, realizing how fragile happiness could be, how one misstep could shatter it, yet also how love could mend the cracks.
Two weeks later they boarded a plane bound for the Maldives. As the aircraft rose, Andrew grasped Clares hand.
I was afraid youd refuse the surprise, he confessed. You never like surprises.
I love you, she said simply. Everything else is irrelevant.
He squeezed her hand, and together they watched the endless sky through the windowvast as the love that had survived doubt and emerged brighter.
Back in Andrews study, a hidden drawer held another envelope, inside a diamond ringhis gift for their silver anniversary, intended for a sunset on a tropical beach. He was certain this time the surprise would land perfectly.
The Maldives day became one of their happiest memories, a story for another time.
