Chapter 3: The Salon Receipt

Tyler went to the salon today. Spent $400. And used my card.

He probably forgot that the salon we go to is tied to my phone number. The charge was more than a typical visit to Supercuts or even a high-end place like Drybar—$400 is enough for a luxury color and cut.

When the text came this afternoon, I was still making excuses for him. Maybe he took his sister, or maybe his mom wanted highlights for the rehearsal dinner. Maybe...

But in the ten minutes he was showering, I'd already called to confirm. This afternoon, none of our relatives had even seen him.

Which means, on the busiest day before the wedding, Tyler snuck away for half a day to take a woman I don't know to get her hair done.

And she dyed her hair auburn.

That color must be beautiful. Beautiful enough that he, always so careful, blurted out and suggested I change my hair color today without thinking.

I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over.

I said hoarsely, "You go sleep first. I still have some details to think over."

Tyler thought I was worrying about wedding arrangements. His brows relaxed. He reached out and tousled my hair, patiently comforting me.

"Silly, don't be nervous. Our wedding tomorrow will be perfect."

A phone notification sounded. He glanced at it, calmly turned off the screen, and said, "Don't stay up too late. I need to reply to a work message."

He went to the study. The door closed, shutting out everything.

But a few minutes later, he had changed clothes, holding his car keys, looking apologetic as he came to me.

"Savvy, there's a major problem with my project. I have to deal with it tonight. You sleep first, don't wait up for me. Don't worry, I'll definitely be on time for the wedding tomorrow."

His anxious, frustrated expression was completely unmasked. He didn't even wait for my reply before rushing out.

The sound of the garage door rolling shut echoed through the house, followed by the car engine fading into the distance.

I stared at the tightly closed door, my heart hollow.

This kind of sudden overtime had happened several times this year. Before, I'd suspected, but the occasional photos he sent from work always soothed my doubts.

But today, I finally saw the truth.

Numbly, I stood up and tore every red decoration in the new house to shreds—streamers, banners, even the personalized signs with our names—piece by piece. When I got tired, I sat on the floor, hugged myself tightly, and let my tears blur my vision.

The torn ribbons and shredded paper littered the hardwood floor, mixing with the faint scent of roses and the echo of old laughter. The crinkle of tissue paper under my knees, my sobs muffled by the throw pillow, made the pain feel sharper and more real.

Tyler, we have no tomorrow.