I was heading home, a small box nestled in my bag. Inside were a pair of elegant and expensive watches I had meticulously selected for Tom.

For months, I had been saving a portion of my salary from each paycheck to give him a truly special gift.

Tomorrow was my husband’s birthday. Forty-two—it’s not a milestone year, but I wanted to make it memorable. We had been together for fifteen years.

I remembered how we met at a friend’s party, how we struck up a conversation and talked late into the night outside the building.

The lift in our block had always been temperamental—an old one from decades ago, lined with plywood and covered in graffiti.

I pressed the call button. The cabin descended slowly, creaking as if it struggled to perform its duty.

Finally, the doors opened, the light inside flickering. I stepped in and pressed the worn button marked “8”.

The doors closed, and the lift began its slow ascent.

I envisioned spending the entire day with my husband tomorrow. Friends and family would gather in the evening.

Suddenly, the lift jerked and came to an abrupt halt.

I pressed “8” again, then tried other buttons without success.

“This is just what I needed!” I muttered, taking a deep breath. “What bad luck.”

I hit the intercom button. Static buzzed, followed by a young woman’s voice:

“Lift control here.”

“I’m stuck in the lift between the first and second floors.”

“I’ve notified the technician. Help is on the way. Please wait.”

“When exactly?” I asked, but silence followed. The connection dropped.

I pulled out my phone. The signal was weak—only one bar.

I called Tom, but he didn’t answer. He was probably busy at a meeting or on the tube, as he usually was heading home around this time.

About twenty minutes passed. I sat, leaning against the lift wall.

With my phone nearly dead, I decided to switch it off.

Suddenly, I heard voices outside the door.

A woman’s voice, clear yet slightly hoarse.

It was Sarah—my neighbour from the second floor. Young, stylish, always in high heels. We greeted each other casually but weren’t particularly close. Once, I helped her carry bags, and she offered me tea, but our acquaintance had never gone beyond that.

“You promised!” she was saying emphatically. “How long can you keep putting this off? I can’t bear it any longer!”

A male voice replied, too softly for me to catch the words, but I discerned the apologetic yet slightly irritated tone.

“Your promises mean nothing!” Sarah continued. “I can’t listen to this anymore! You’re an adult, yet you act like a child!”

I couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Were they experiencing a domestic dispute?

In another circumstance, I might have felt uncomfortable intruding, but boredom and desperation turned me into an unwilling spectator of their conversation.

“What do you want from me, Sarah?”

The male voice grew louder, and I froze.

The tone, the inflection… could it be Tom?

I pressed my ear against the lift door. No way.

Tom should be at work. Or at home. He couldn’t possibly be in our neighbour’s flat.

“I want you to finally tell her the truth,” Sarah’s voice trembled with indignation. “You need to get a divorce. How much longer is this going to go on? How long can you stretch this out?”

“Nothing can be resolved immediately, you must understand,” I recognised Tom’s voice clearly now. “We need to prepare. If I divorce, I’ll lose half of everything: the flat, the car, the holiday home…”

“What about our son? Have you even thought about him?”

The world around me felt like it was spinning, as if I had lost my ground. Our son? What was she talking about?

“He’s almost one,” Sarah continued, her voice heavy with reproach. “He only sees his father on weekends, and that’s not always. How can you call yourself a father when you’re never there?”

I wanted to scream, to pound on the lift door with all my strength. I wanted to shout that I could hear every word. But my body felt frozen, refusing to comply.

I stood still as if I had plunged into an icy abyss. My mind spun with fragments of thoughts, memories, and questions.

“Just wait a little longer,” Tom’s voice sounded tired and devoid of life. “I’ve thought everything through. It will all be sorted soon.”

“What exactly have you thought through?” Sarah scoffed. “You always say the same thing. You always have excuses.”

“I’ve started transferring money to another account,” he replied brusquely. “I’ve put the car in my brother’s name. Soon, I’ll say I’m going on a business trip, and I’ll file for divorce. It’s easier that way for everyone.”

“Why not now?” Her voice was laced with clear skepticism.

I slowly sank to the floor of the lift, gripping the box containing the watches so tightly as if that could prevent me from spiralling into oblivion.

My thoughts tangled and crashed into one another. How could this have happened? When? We had been so happy! We had even talked about building a new conservatory at the holiday home this summer.

Tom had always seemed so attentive and caring. Had it all merely been a façade?

Then I recalled my mother’s words before my wedding. She had taken my hands earnestly and said, “Tom is a charismatic man. Girls always flock to those types. Be careful, so he doesn’t ruin your marriage.”

I had laughed it off. Her warning had seemed absurd and out of place. How wrong I had been…

The voices outside quieted down. It felt as if the entire building had plunged into silence, leaving me alone.

Thousands of questions swirled in my mind: how long had this been going on? Did the other neighbours know? And most importantly—what was I to do now?

If Tom was planning this betrayal, I would take the first step myself. I resolved to expose him on his birthday. Let him discover what his deception would cost him.

A few moments later, a knock sounded on the lift door.

“Hey, is anybody there?” came a male voice.

“Yes, I’m here!” I responded, struggling to stand. My legs had gone numb from crouching for too long.

“I’ll open it, don’t worry!”

There was the sound of tools grinding, and in a few minutes, the lift door finally opened.

A middle-aged technician stood in the doorway, wearing blue overalls branded with the company logo. His hair was grey, his face lined with age, and his hands were calloused.

“Well, there you go,” he smiled. “Freedom! How long have you been in there?”

“I’m not sure. My phone died, and I don’t have a watch,” I said, stepping out of the lift.

As I straightened up, relief washed over me, the tension leaving my body.

“These old lifts are useless,” the technician sighed. “But nobody’s in a hurry to replace them. There’s no money, they say.”

I nodded, thanked him, and slowly made my way up the stairs to the eighth floor.

I opened the flat door. Tom was already home, seated in the living room with his laptop on his knees. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and his hair was tousled—he always looked like this when he was concentrating.

“Oh, you’re back!” he smiled with that familiar warmth. “I called you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I was stuck in the lift,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “My phone almost ran out of battery.”

“Not that lift again,” Tom shook his head. “We need to file a collective complaint. How long can this go on?”

I stared at him, unable to comprehend how he could lie so convincingly. Each gesture, each inflection now felt false and forced.

“Are you having dinner?” I asked, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make pasta.”

“Of course,” he replied. “Need help?”

“No, I can manage,” I brushed him off, gathering ingredients from the fridge.

The evening passed as usual. We had dinner, talked about the news, and watched a series together. Tom recounted work-related stories while I listened closely, nodding and laughing at his jokes.

But inside me, my plan was brewing.

The next morning began with my overly cheerful, “Happy Birthday, darling!”

Tom opened his eyes, stretched, and smiled.

“Thank you, love.”

“I have a surprise for you,” I said with a mysterious smile. “But first, you’ll have to close your eyes.”

“What are you plotting?”

“You’ll see,” I retrieved his dark blue tie from the cupboard. “Turn around; I’ll tie your eyes.”

Tom complied without hesitation. I carefully secured the tie around his eyes, ensuring he couldn’t see a thing.

“Where are you leading me?” he asked as I guided him out of the flat.

There was a mix of curiosity and mild apprehension in his voice.

“Let’s hope it’s not a parachute jump! You know I’m terrified of heights.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I replied, directing him to the lift. “Just trust me.”

We descended to the second floor. I brought Tom out of the lift and led him to Sarah’s door.

I pressed the doorbell.

Each second of waiting felt like an eternity.

In my mind, I pictured the scene: the door swings open, and shock fills Sarah’s face. I imagined her confusion.

Finally, the door creaked open. Sarah stood at the threshold in a robe, a towel wrapped around her still-damp hair. Her face bore only mild confusion.

“Take him away,” I said, giving Tom a gentle nudge forward.

“What?” Sarah looked at us, clearly bewildered.

I ushered my husband inside. He still didn’t quite grasp what was happening but followed my lead obediently.

“You can take off the blindfold now,” I said confidently.

Tom removed the tie from his eyes, blinked, and began to take in his surroundings.

“Where are we? What’s going on?” he glanced between me and Sarah, clearly confused by the scene. “Whose flat is this?”

I crossed my arms, ready for the climax.

“Ask your dear Sarah,” I said coolly.

Tom stared at our neighbour with genuine bewilderment, and for a moment I hesitated.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, pleadingly looking from me to Sarah. “Vicky, please explain.”

Sarah, too, looked puzzled.

“Which conversation? I was at work all day yesterday. I didn’t come back until nine in the evening,” she responded, shaking her head.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then a man came out of the kitchen.

He was holding a small boy who eagerly munched on a biscuit.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, and I froze.

His voice… the tone, the inflection… nearly identical to Tom’s. Even his way of speaking felt familiar.

I began to feel warm. The man bore no physical resemblance to Tom, but their voices… were almost the same.

I laughed, took Tom by the hand, and started toward the exit.

“Sorry about the mix-up,” I said to Sarah. “We’ll just be leaving now.”

At home, I recounted the whole story to Tom. He listened with interest, as if he were watching a gripping film.

Then he shook his head and hugged me.

“Vicky, how could you think I could do that? After fifteen years together? You know how much I love you.”

“You’ll believe it when you find yourself in such a situation,” I smiled. “Sorry for putting on that little show.”

“It’s alright,” Tom grinned back. “Now we have a funny story for family evenings.”

Finally, I retrieved the box from my bag and handed it to him.

Tom was thrilled with the gift, put on the watch immediately, and admired it all day.