I was careful not to delete anything or alter the original records.
Then we looked at the message that had started my investigation.
It was short.
Tonight at eight. Same place. Daniel’s on his night shift.
The message had appeared on our shared tablet while Mark was in the shower. I hadn’t recognized the number, but something about the wording had made my stomach tighten.
I had asked Mark about it later that afternoon.
He told me it was a work-related appointment.
I had believed him enough to let him leave the house.
Not enough to stop following him.
Daniel read the message again.
“Same place,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“So they’ve been meeting before.”
“It looks that way.”
He closed his eyes.
Then he asked me to show him the financial records.
I had not checked our accounts yet. I had been too focused on finding out whether Mark was cheating to consider what else he might be doing.
We opened our bank statements, credit card records, and recent transactions.
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
Then I found three hotel charges on a credit card we shared.
The first was from two months earlier.
The second was from the previous month.
The third was from the hotel where I had filmed them.
I stared at the screen.
“Daniel, look at this.”
He leaned over my shoulder.
“That’s your card?”
“Our card.”
He looked sick.
“So he was paying for rooms with your money.”
“Our money,” I corrected automatically.
Then I stopped.
It was a habit, that phrase. Our money. Our house. Our future. Our life.
For thirty-one years, I had treated our marriage as a partnership.
Mark had apparently treated it as a place to hide.
Daniel sat back and stared at the table.
“I don’t understand how people do this,” he said. “How do you eat dinner with someone, ask them about their day, tell them you love them, and then go do something like that?”
