It was a perfectly ordinary Saturday. Winston was usually nowhere to be found after breakfast.

My son Ryan came over with his wife and daughter after picking up some groceries. At that moment, he was lying on the recliner, busy returning calls. My daughter-in-law Eve was unpacking their things, while my four-year-old granddaughter Lily was playing games on her tablet, with the family cat running around her.

I prepared a big lunch, and after they ate, they left. The house felt empty. I looked at the messy living room and the pile of dishes in the sink. After cleaning up, I could finally catch my breath.

Winston always stayed out late with friends on Saturdays, so I was used to eating alone. I casually warmed up some leftovers from lunch. Suddenly, I had the urge to take a stroll around the nearby square.

There was a park downstairs where I usually took walks, but today it felt a bit desolate, so I decided to go to the square a bit further away.

In all these years, I could count the number of times I've gone to the square on one hand. Perhaps it was age; I found the noise and crowds there too overwhelming.

The square was packed with people, all kinds of performances and music filling the air. Then suddenly, an old song began to play over the speakers.

Standing on the edge of the crowd, I saw small groups forming as people paired up to dance. Before long, they were all moving in unison, gracefully dancing to the music.

I sat by a flowerbed, feeling a tinge of envy.

Suddenly, I noticed a figure in the crowd whose back looked strikingly similar to Winston's. He was wearing a black shirt, standing tall with perfect posture, his steps keeping time with the music.

He danced exceptionally well, but his partner was even more graceful-though past her prime, her movements were elegant and poised. She must've had some kind of dance background.

After watching for a while, I felt a chill. Pulling my jacket tighter, I started heading home. As I passed by the flowerbed, my eyes inadvertently fell on the dancing couple again. The man's face stood out in the warm glow of the lights, and in that instant, I froze.

My blood ran cold, my mind went blank, and I scrutinized his face carefully. Under the warm lighting, I could clearly see-it was my husband, Winston.

He looked radiant, a smile on his face I had never seen before.

As they danced, Winston and the woman switched places. The moment I saw her face, a string in my mind snapped.

I suddenly remembered the photo Winston had shown me before we got married-his first love.

He had confessed to me that he once had a first love, named Mollie. They were close to getting married, but her family opposed it. They had parted ways peacefully, and Winston assured me that there was no chance of them getting back together.

But as I looked at that woman's face, her features slowly overlapped with the image of the girl in my memory.

I started trembling uncontrollably, trying to force myself to stay calm.

But I couldn't. My husband Winston-who had been gone all day-was spending time with his first love, reliving the sweetness of their past.

My chest felt like it was on fire, burning so intensely it hurt to breathe, yet at the same time, I felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over me, leaving me frozen to the core.

A voice inside my head screamed in outrage. I wanted to rush over, grab him by the collar, and demand why he would do this to me.

But strangely, another thought crossed my mind. Was this a one-time encounter between Winston and his first love, or had he been meeting her every Saturday for all these years?

If he no longer loved me, we could part ways. But thirty years… why would he hide this from me for thirty years?

Suddenly, I didn't know how to face it. I tried to suppress the flood of absurd thoughts in my mind and stumbled my way home.

As the crowd thinned out and I was left alone, my tears started pouring out uncontrollably, like a faucet turned all the way on.

I didn't want to think about it, but the memories kept playing like a rewound tape, taking me back to that particular Saturday all those years ago.

Winston hadn't always disappeared every Saturday.

It started one afternoon when Ryan was seven. He vanished after school. I thought he was playing in the park, so I didn't think much of it. But even after I finished cooking dinner, he hadn't come home.

I started to panic, frantically searching everywhere. I checked every place he could've gone, but there was no sign of him.

A neighbor suggested I try calling his friends. I got a list of phone numbers from his teacher and started calling every one of them.

It wasn't until after 11 p. m. that I found out he had gone to a friend's house in a nearby neighborhood and fallen asleep there. The friend's parents had been busy with work after dinner, and since the kids were quiet, they thought Ryan had already gone home.

I still remember calling Winston several times that night, but he never picked up. Alone and terrified, I was on the verge of losing my mind, which is why it remains so vivid in my memory.

It's been almost thirty-one years since that day.

Thirty-one years… Why did he keep it from me for thirty-one years?

The sun had set, and though the heater was on, I still felt cold to the bone. The darkness enveloped me, threatening to swallow me whole.

I sat on the couch, unable to comprehend how my marriage had turned into this.