When I placed a pizza order while my fiancé was away, I anticipated an evening of solitude, not a revelation that would shake my world. Unbeknownst to me, this delivery was about to rescue me from a catastrophic marriage.
Living with Jake felt like being stuck in a comfortable routine. Our small apartment, with its cozy throws and mismatched cushions, was our haven—or so I thought. I’m Emily, and for the past three years, Jake and I have made a habit out of simple pleasures.
Our most common indulgence was ordering pizza during our chilled-out evenings. It had become our ritual. While Jake perused movie options, I would call our beloved local pizza joint.
Tom, our regular delivery man, recognized us instantly. His timely arrivals, always accompanied by a bright “How’s it going?” filled our small entryway. However, tonight was different; it was only me. Jake was on a business trip, and the quietness felt overwhelming.
I ordered a single pizza—my usual, pepperoni with extra cheese. When the doorbell rang, it was Tom, as expected, but something about him was off tonight. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands seemed to shake a bit as he handed me the pizza box.
“Evening, Emily. Jake’s not here tonight?” Tom inquired, his voice wavering slightly.
“Just me tonight,” I replied, attempting to sound upbeat. Tom nodded and hurriedly turned to leave—perhaps too hastily.
As I closed the door, his behavior left me unsettled. Was he alright? Brushing aside my concerns, I brought the warm box to the kitchen. The familiar scent of garlic and tomato sauce enveloped me, usually a comforting embrace.
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