I was reviewing the management contract on my phone when a WhatsApp voice message from Tamara popped up.

“So sorry, Mrs. Shepherd,” she cooed.

“Mr. Shepherd insisted on coming to take care of me. I know I’m delaying his exhibition progress—please don’t blame him!”

Her intentions were painfully transparent.

Too exhausted to engage, I instead focused on Tamara’s newly changed profile picture.

Zooming in, I recognized the hands cradling her hives-flushed face, faint smudges of paint still visible on the fingers.

Those hands were unmistakably Henry’s.

So he truly did care for her.

I closed the image and silently changed my own profile picture—from a wedding photo to a lone bird in flight.

On the final day of the exhibition, I stayed backstage to wrap up logistics.

By the time I went out front for the group photo, Henry had already stood center-stage with Tamara tucked under his arm.

Reporters gushed:

“The Shepherds are such relationship goals! Seven years married and still inseparable!”

“Mrs. Shepherd looks so youthful! And to think she manages his studio and curated this exhibition—beauty and brains!”

Neither Henry nor Tamara corrected them.