That night marked our eighth wedding anniversary. I had waited at the restaurant until they closed.
It wasn’t until 3 a.m. that a video finally came through, sent from an anonymous account.
When I clicked it open, the video showed a drunken Primrose passionately tangled up with a man.
I recognized him instantly, her newly hired assistant, Gideon.
Before I could even process the betrayal, Primrose called me, panic thick in her voice.
“Honey, I think I did something horrible…”
“I didn’t mean to. I drank too much. I blacked out. I don’t even know how it happened.”
“When I came to, Gideon was lying naked beside me…”
She looked shattered, eyes full of guilt and unbearable pain.
“Carson, please believe me. I was set up.”
At that time, though she confessed with trembling sincerity, I had already seen the video.
I felt like the ground had given way beneath me. I asked for a divorce.
But to my shock, Primrose suddenly grabbed a knife and, right before my eyes, unfastened her belt.
Her eyes were red as she choked out, “Carson, I never meant to betray you.”
“If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove my innocence right now.”
Then, without a hint of hesitation, she plunged the knife toward her own abdomen.