A week ago, I was stunned to hear a woman dedicate a romantic song to my husband on the radio. Fast forward, and I found myself making a call to that same station for reasons my husband could never foresee.
It was one of those dreary evenings filled with rain and weariness. All I wanted was to be home, sipping chamomile tea. Fumbling with the radio in an attempt to silence my racing thoughts, I caught the familiar voice of our local DJ, Max, just as a favorite tune of mine wrapped up.
“Coming up, we have Jessie on the line! Who’s this song for, darling?” Max inquired.
Jessie’s light laugh filled the air. “Hey Max! This song’s for the most incredible man I know, my Ori-bear. It’s been a year, and I’m so grateful!”
I was smiling, remembering my own love, but then she continued:
“He might be shy about this, but we all know him as Mr. Lamber. This one’s for you, Oric. ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’ perfectly describes how you make me feel!”
My heart sank. Oric? That’s my husband’s name, and it’s quite rare. A wave of nausea hit me as the implications dawned on me.
I pulled my car over, trembling. “Is he… could he be cheating?” I murmured, praying it was all a mix-up.
Yet, the connections were too precise. The song, his name—it all made sense. Tears started as I sat parked, listening to the DJ and the trite lyrics that now felt like a personal attack.
Memories of Oric’s recent late nights and vague excuses came flooding back. His phone buzzed with a text: “Running late tonight, important work! XOXO.”
Important work indeed.
He wasn’t going to slip by this time. If the radio call was any indication of his betrayal, I was ready to confront it head-on.
The rest of the evening was a blur. I couldn’t eat; all I could do was wait, hoping for some sign of a misunderstanding.
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