“When are you coming home tonight?”

Hal stared at the text on his phone warily. He had been married to Sharon for 23 years and she had never asked him this. After all, he left his desk at Carter Inc. every day at five o’clock sharp, drove the 45-minute commute home, parked his car in the driveway, kissed Sharon on his way through the house and settled down just in time for the six o’clock news. He didn’t see what should be different about today.

“Same time as always,” he texted back.

Hal turned back to his computer and resumed his work. Halfway through entering a list of sales figures into a spreadsheet, his typing slowed. He furrowed his brow. Suspicion gnawed at him. Picking his phone back up, he wrote, “Is everything okay?”

Sharon’s reply was immediate: “Yes, I’ll see you tonight. Love you!”

In itself, there was nothing peculiar about a wife asking her husband when he’d get home. It was perfectly normal. But something didn’t feel right about this. Hal racked his brain, trying to pinpoint whether anything had been different about Sharon’s behavior lately. His wife was working on building her own massage business, so she travelled to clients all over the city most days. She was always exhausted in the evenings. Hal had been dealing with the idiot contractors who were converting the garage into a massage studio, fixing their mistakes on his free weekends. They had both been stressed. They had not spoken much.

Now that Hal was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he had been a very supportive husband. When was the last time he did something nice for Sharon? He bought her flowers three days ago (carnations, her favorite). He picked up takeaway a couple of times so she wouldn’t have to cook after a long day. But they hadn’t talked much lately. Is this what this was about?

He looked at his phone again. “Yes, I’ll see you tonight. I love you!”

For the rest of the day, Hal struggled to concentrate on his work. There was one possibility he distinctly did not want to think about. Could Sharon be unhappy in their marriage? He pointedly ignored the intrusive thoughts, desperately fixating on his spreadsheets.

By 4:50 pm, Hal had worked himself into such a state that he stormed out of the Carter Inc. offices, jumped in his car and sped the whole way home. When he got out, he slammed the car door harder than necessary, marched up the driveway and took the front steps two at a time.

“Sharon?” he yelled as he stepped in the front door. No reply. “Sharon!” he tried again. Nothing.

As he stepped further into the hallway, he heard the whisper of movement upstairs. Hal fought down the wave of unease, squirming in the pit of his stomach. He moved toward the staircase, walking up the carpeted steps as quietly as he could. At the top of the steps, he stopped and listened. A sound of cloth-on-cloth was coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar. Someone was murmuring. The curtains were being drawn.

As he stepped slowly, cautiously, down the corridor, his stomach twisted into a tangled, sickening knot. Through the open door, he could see the bed. Nobody was in it, but he could see Sharon standing at the window, where she had just drawn the curtains. She was wearing a negligé he had never seen before. Who was murmuring?

The knot in Hal’s stomach lurched painfully. The only way out is through, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. The door creaked. Sharon started and turned toward the noise.

“Hal!” she exclaimed. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah…” he replied, casting his glance around the room. Searching.

Sharon looked at him, eyes wide. After a moment, she spread her hands and said weakly: “Surprise!”

Hal stared at her uncomprehendingly, then looked around the room again. Only now did he notice that scented candles were burning. The carnations he gave her adorned the bedside table.

“You kind of ruined it,” Sharon said with a soft smile, shifting her weight. When Hal didn’t reply, clearly not understanding, she said: “I meant to surprise you,” gesturing toward the room. A soft song emanated from the old radio.

Looking at Sharon, it suddenly struck him how beautiful she looked. The lace negligé perfectly hugged her body, accentuated her soft curves. Her hair flowed across her shoulders, perfectly curled. The flickering light of the candles danced on her cupid’s bow. Touched her eyelashes. The knot in Hal’s stomach untwisted as he finally understood.

“Oh,” he said.

The prompt for this piece was: surprise, lace
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