Christie wouldn't allow herself the luxury of believing that the rose had been meant for her. Why would it be? She thought. After five years, only now he was realizing his mistake? I don't think so.
His secretary was much older than Alex by almost twenty-five years, so she doubted that the rose was for her. This left Christie with only one conclusion: another woman. She thought about the idea of her husband having an affair. While she, admittedly, thought about herself having an affair many times, she had never imagined that her husband might actually be doing it.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. Every man, even one that doesn't love his wife has natural urges, natural desires. When was the last time they had made love? She could barely remember, it was so long ago. He was obviously getting his satisfaction else where. That's not to mention the glaringly obvious signs, like often staying late at the office, which she hadn't paid much attention to until this dreadful moment.
She wasn't sure why she felt so angry; after all, they barely spoke to eachother anymore unless it was "I'll be late tonight.", or "I'm going to the grocery store.", or "What's for dinner." It could barely be considered a marriage, she thought, yet the red hot emotions bubbled up inside her and out of her control.
Was she pretty? Gorgeous, even? Was she a better kisser? Was she more tender than Christie when she made love to him? Was her waistline smaller?
Christie couldn't take it any longer. She stormed around the bedroom, trying to think of something she could do. She picked up the rose. There was a card attached: For my Love, it said. Simple, she thought; sweet. She flipped the card over to see what flower shop he had used. Who knew? Maybe he bought it in her neighbourhood while he was coming from her apartment the evening before.
She decided then, that she would get to the bottom of this.
Then? She would divorce the bastard.