The Wife's Counterstrike

1.

On our ninth wedding anniversary, I had planned everything perfectly.

On the terrace of our pre-war Upper East Side apartment, I arranged roses flown in from Monaco.

I booked a private chef from the French restaurant where we had our first date.

I wore the blush Valentino gown Sebastian once said he loved.

At 8 p.m., Sebastian still wasn't home.

At 9 p.m., I had sent him three texts. All were read, none were answered.

At 10:30 p.m., the elevator doors finally opened.

But it wasn't jus