Three different stories. Three different places.
I told myself I was being paranoid. People get details mixed up. It’s not a big deal. But once you notice something’s off, your brain won’t let it go. You start seeing cracks everywhere.
Last Friday changed everything.
Dan was in the shower, and I was clearing space for the new bouquet when something fell out of the wrapping. A small piece of paper, folded once, popped up. I picked it up and opened it.
Four words in a hurried font that looked like a child’s handwriting stared back at me: “See you next Friday.”
I stood there holding that note while my entire body went cold. My ears started ringing. That’s all it said. No name, no explanation. Just those four words that felt like a bomb going off in my kitchen.
Your mind does this thing when you love someone for this long. It tries to protect you and offers explanations. Maybe it’s for someone else. It’s a joke, perhaps. Maybe there’s a perfectly innocent reason.
But your gut knows better. Your gut has already figured it out.
“Is he cheating on me?” I whispered to my empty kitchen.
That night, I lay awake while Dan slept peacefully beside me. I watched the ceiling fan go around while my mind replayed our entire marriage: The wedding. Our first apartment with the leaky faucet. Late nights with a crying baby. Sunday mornings doing crossword puzzles together. All of it.
Had I missed something? Was there someone else this whole time? How long has this been going on? Do I know her?
By morning, I looked like hell. My eyes were puffy, and my head ached. But I got up and made breakfast like nothing was wrong. Set scrambled eggs for the kids on their plates, and burnt the toast because I wasn’t paying attention. I smiled and nodded when Dan kissed my cheek goodbye.
“Have a good day,” I said.
“You too, babe.”
The door closed behind him, and I sat on the couch and cried.
I spent the week spiraling. Every time my phone buzzed, I jumped. And every time Dan came home late, I wondered where he’d actually been. I analyzed every word and gesture, looking for proof of what I already suspected.
By the time Friday rolled around, I’d made up my mind. I was going to follow him.
I called in sick to work. Sent the kids off to school with some excuse about running errands. Then I drove to Dan’s office building and parked across the street where I could see the entrance.
I sat there for hours. My coffee went cold. My hands were shaking. I felt ridiculous, desperate, and angry all at once.
Then, at 2 p.m., three hours before his shift normally ended, Dan walked out.
No briefcase. No phone call that I could see. Just his car keys and that casual Friday walk like he had nothing to hide.
I started my car and followed him.
He didn’t go home. Didn’t stop at any flower shop. Just drove for about 15 minutes until he pulled into a neighborhood that made my stomach drop. I knew this place. I recognized the red mailbox at the corner. The house with the crooked wind chime made of seashells.
This was Erika’s street.
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