At 6:00 a.m. on Monday, I backed my car out of the garage, heading to catch the 6:45 train to Manhattan. We lived in Nassau Shores, a small suburb on Long Island’s South Shore. I paused to ensure the garage door closed before leaving. Two weeks ago, I had forgotten to check, and Lauren called me at work furious.

She accused me of not caring about her safety, fearing someone could have entered the house. I apologized and promised to be more careful. She calmed down but still criticized my carelessness. For the past two weeks, things had been tense at home, and I couldn’t understand why she was still upset.

I’m Jeff Carlson, twenty-seven, with light brown hair and a closely cropped beard. I managed the foreign exchange desk at a major commercial bank, making profitable currency trades. My intuition for timing trades earned me two promotions in the past two years. Lauren, also twenty-seven but a few months older, had jet-black hair and Mediterranean features.

She worked for a national medical insurance carrier in Huntington, New York, about twenty-five minutes from home. Her supervisor, Jim Beckman, was a tall, muscular man whom I had met at company events. Something about him bothered me, though I never mentioned it to Lauren. After ensuring the garage door was closed, I tuned the satellite radio to a country station.

The first song was about a man loving his bar, but the second struck a chord. It described the issues in my marriage: distant behavior, small slights, and unsatisfying lovemaking. Absorbed in the song, I missed a green light until cars honked. I then drove to a parking lot to finish listening.

Afterward, I headed to the train station and caught the earlier 6:30 train to Penn Station. On the train, I reminisced about meeting Lauren. It was July, right after my sixteenth birthday, as I mowed the lawn. A moving van arrived at the Miller’s house nearby.

Mr. Miller had died, and his widow had moved in with family, so the house was sold. A BMW followed the van, and out stepped Mr. and Mrs. Frank Scavo. From the back seat emerged Lauren, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was a few months older than me, with short hair, denim shorts, and a halter top.

She smiled at me, and I was instantly smitten. A few days later, I saw Lauren and her mom, Cheryl, outside. Gathering my courage, I introduced myself. Cheryl soon left us with iced tea, giving us some privacy.

Lauren and I hit it off, spending the rest of the summer together. There were no romantic moves, just the joy of each other’s company. When school started, we shared lunch and the bus ride home but had no classes together. I asked her to the October Harvest Dance, and she agreed.

However, as the school year progressed, Lauren made new friends, especially with the cheerleaders, aiming to join their squad. We still sat together on the bus and talked daily. The dance day arrived, and my dad drove us there. As we walked in, some football players smirked and laughed.

“What’s that about?” I asked.

“Who cares?” Lauren shrugged.

We had fun dancing until a slow song played. Just as I asked Lauren to dance, Billy Barber, the star linebacker, approached. “Let’s go, babe,” Billy said to Lauren, who left with him without a glance back. Stunned, I asked my friend Jack what happened.

“You just got dumped,” Jack said.

Lauren and Billy danced closely, clearly familiar with each other. I felt humiliated. After the dance, they joined the football team, with Billy possessively holding Lauren. I was too intimidated to confront him.

Billy later taunted me. “You didn’t think a nerd like you could get a girl like that, did you?” he laughed and walked away. Lauren never returned to me that night, enjoying herself with her new friends. I stayed, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me leave early.

As the dance ended, I reluctantly approached Lauren and Billy’s table. “Lauren, my dad will be here soon. I need to take you home,” I said.

“Get lost, Carlson,” Billy responded. “She’s going home with me.”

“Lauren,” I snapped, “I don’t care how you get home. If you don’t come with me, my dad will tell your mom. You can explain why you came home with Billy.”

I walked away, not caring if she walked home alone. Eventually, Lauren sat beside me and tried to make small talk.

“Did you have a good time at the dance, Jeff?”

“Are you serious? You dumped me for Billy Barber, so no, I did not have a good time.”

I saw my dad’s car pull up and walked toward it. Lauren had to run to catch up. My dad, sensing something was wrong, asked, “Did you enjoy the dance?” I didn’t respond, and he looked puzzled.

Lauren waited by the rear door, but I got in the front seat, leaving her to get in alone. My dad was furious. “Get out and open the door for your date,” he ordered.

“I would if she was my date,” I replied.

My dad sensed something was wrong. Lauren got in the back, and we drove in silence. When we arrived at Lauren’s house, her mom was waiting at the door. My dad got out, but I stayed in the car.

Lauren’s mom looked concerned. Lauren walked past her mom without looking back. When my dad returned, he asked, “What happened?”

“She found someone she liked better at the dance,” I said.

“Forget her, son. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

After that, I ignored Lauren. She started riding with Billy Barber and joined the cheerleading team. I made the honor roll. After graduation, I went to Wharton on a full scholarship while Lauren started working.

My parents threw me a big graduation party, and the Scavos were invited, but not Lauren. When Mrs. Scavo sat next to me, she said, “I thought you two made a great couple. I’m sorry something happened.” We made small talk until she asked what happened that night. I replied, “We realized we wanted different things in life.”

She looked like she wanted to say more but didn’t. She wished me luck and left. I started my job at the bank in mid-June and found an apartment in SoHo. My new job was hectic, leaving no time for socializing.

I quickly realized that real-life work was very different from school. It had been four months since I saw my parents. One evening, Mom called, inviting me to stay for the weekend. She mentioned my old room was ready, and I missed her home-cooked meals.

Taking the train was the easiest way to get there, and their house was a short eight-block walk from the station. Halfway there, a car pulled up honking. It was my high school friend Becca shouting, “Hey, stranger, need a lift?”

“Heck yeah, it’s hot out here,” I replied, hopping into the back seat.

Jack, another old friend, was driving. We caught up on the past four years. “I didn’t know you guys were a couple. How long has this been going on?” I asked.

Becca showed me her wedding band. “Two years now,” Jack said, smiling.

“I had no idea,” I replied, feeling a bit sad. “I haven’t been a good friend, have I?”

“That’s crazy,” Becca said. “We haven’t reached out either. It’s just life.”

“Thanks, Becca,” I said, relieved. “It’s really good seeing you guys.”

Jack then invited me to a party at their place the next night. Becca gave him a look that I didn’t understand at the time.

“Sure, I’d love to. Are any of our old friends coming?” I asked.

“Yes, quite a few,” Becca said.

“Great, I’ll bring some beer. What time and where?”

“7:30 at 135 Remson Street,” Jack said, and they dropped me off at my parents’ house. I was excited about the party and seeing old friends. At the party, I was chatting with Kenny Carter when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard, “Hi, neighbor. Long time no see.”

It was Lauren, looking as beautiful as ever. Memories of her with Billy Barber flashed in my mind. I turned back to Kenny, but Lauren’s friend confronted me.

“That was rude,” she said.

“Not as rude as what she did to me,” I replied.

“Jeff, please. You can’t still be mad about that night. It’s been six years,” Lauren said.

“I sure can,” I fumed, walking away.

Becca ran to comfort Lauren while Jack pulled me aside, asking me to apologize to keep peace with Becca. I found Lauren in the kitchen.

“Can we talk alone?” I asked.

Lauren’s friend resisted, but Becca convinced her to leave us alone. After a few awkward moments, I started. “Lauren, I’m sorry for what I said. That night hurt me deeply. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“No, you’re right, Jeff. I acted terribly and deserved what you said. I never apologized. Would you accept my apology now?”

“Thank you, Lauren. Yes, I accept.”

Lauren hugged me, and we kissed passionately. Becca and Jack walked in, with Becca remarking, “I’ll be damned. Honey, it looks like you did know what you were doing.”

Jack sighed in relief, then puffed out his chest, saying, “Damn right, and don’t you forget it.”

We all laughed and rejoined the party. Lauren and I started dating, and nine months later, we were married. The conductor’s announcement brought me back to the present as the train rolled on. I reflected on the past three months of my marriage.

I was convinced my wife was cheating. It seemed foolish to base this on a country song, but everything fit. My usual intuition was now sounding alarm bells. At the office, Howard Goldman noticed something was off and followed me to my desk.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied.

“Nonsense,” Howard said. “I can’t let you gamble with the bank’s money today. Tell me what’s up, or go home.”

I sighed and confessed, “I think Lauren is having an affair.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No, just a feeling,” I admitted.

“Your feelings are usually right. Don’t ignore them. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I just found out today.”

“Take it easy. I’ll support you. Let me know when you decide what to do. I don’t think you’re on top of your game today,” Howard insisted.

He was right. I let my staff handle most of the work for the next two weeks. They seemed to enjoy the freedom. I closed my office door and cried.

I couldn’t imagine life without Lauren. My sadness turned to anger. Confronting Lauren without proof would be foolish. I needed a plan.

After work, I bought voice-activated recorders and placed them around the house and on the phones. By Friday, I had proof of Lauren’s betrayal. Their conversation went like this.

“Jim, this is Lauren.”

“Why are you calling me at home? What if my wife answered?” Jim Beckman barked.

“I’d make up a work excuse. I think we should back off. Jeff is acting funny.”

“Has he accused you?”

“No, but he’s cold and distant. Maybe we should cool it for a while.”

“Okay, if you think that’s best,” Jim said. Then he suggested, “I’m going to Miami in two weeks. Maybe I can get you to join me. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Jeff might get suspicious. Let me ask Fred, and if he agrees, you can tell Jeff it’s a work trip.”

Lauren laughed. Now I knew for sure. Lauren was planning a week with Beckman. Sadness overwhelmed me, then turned to anger.

I needed proof for a divorce. A plan was necessary, but I didn’t have one yet. I arrived home from work at 7:30 p.m. after a hectic trading day with millions on the line and my mind elsewhere. Lauren was cooking dinner.

“How was your day?” she asked, kissing me.

Her cheerful demeanor was rare lately. I expected her to mention her business trip to Miami soon. I spent most of my time outside avoiding her to prevent blurting out my knowledge of her affair. It was tough.

“Glad you’re in a good mood,” I replied.

“I have good news. You go first,” she said.

“My day wasn’t great,” I admitted.

Lauren giggled. “I’ve been asked to attend a seminar in South Beach, all expenses paid, at the Victor Hotel. I’ll be gone from Friday this week to the following Saturday. Do you mind if I go?”

She looked at me, trying to gauge my reaction. I saw excitement but also a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Nine days is a long time. Do you have to go?” I asked.

“Mr. Beckman is counting on me. It will be good for my career,” she explained.

I looked out the front door, knowing our marriage was at a crossroads. I quietly said, “If it’s important for your job, you can go. When do you leave?”

“Did you say I could go?” she asked, surprised.

I nodded, unable to speak. Lauren hugged me, saying, “Thank you. This means so much to me.”

I regretted it already. Lauren would leave from JFK at 10:30 a.m. on Friday. I insisted on driving her to the airport, despite her suggesting Beckman could take her.

“No way. I want to see you off,” I said.

She reluctantly agreed, trying to hide her disappointment. Thursday morning, I told Howard, “Lauren is going to Miami for a business trip. They leave Friday and return next Saturday.”

Howard, with fire in his eyes, said, “You’re covered. Mr. Diamond gave you carte blanche on the company credit card. Just reimburse for non-business expenses within two weeks.”

I asked how to thank Mr. Diamond, and Howard laughed. “A good single malt scotch will do. He got screwed in his divorce last year and hates cheating wives.”

I took the day off to prepare. I bought a round-trip ticket to Miami, a top-of-the-line Canon camera, a carry-on bag, new clothes, and a Yankees cap. Lauren wouldn’t believe I’d wear one as a Mets fan. I also picked up razors and hair dye.

Everything went on the company card so Lauren wouldn’t notice. I was ready for my trip. Let the games begin. At home that night, I asked Lauren for her trip itinerary.

She was leaving on the 10:30 a.m. flight from JFK on JetBlue Airlines, staying in room 314 at the Victor Hotel. Mr. Beckman would be in a different room. I had booked a 1:30 p.m. flight, three hours behind her, and got a room at the same hotel, hoping not to be seen checking in. We got up early Friday morning to reach the airport by 8:30.

The car ride was quiet. Lauren tried to talk, but I was too upset, knowing I was driving my wife to an affair.

“Jeff, are you okay with me taking this trip? You said it was fine,” she asked.

“I know what I said, but the reality of you being gone for nine days is hitting me. I’ll miss you,” I replied.

“I understand. I’ll miss you too. It will be a long and lonely nine days,” she said.

“Maybe for me. You’ll be at a glamorous South Beach hotel,” I groaned.

Lauren laughed. “It’s mostly work, not a vacation.”

We made small talk and parked at the short-term lot. At the JetBlue curbside check-in, we saw Beckman waiting. Lauren glanced at me to gauge my reaction. Beckman approached, kissed Lauren’s cheek, and offered his hand to me.

I smiled and shook it, hiding my anger. “Lauren, we should get through security. Nice to see you, Jeff. I’ll take good care of Lauren,” Beckman said.

I looked at him and replied, “I know what he means, Lauren.” I smiled at Beckman and said, “Thanks for looking out for her.”

Their faces brightened, and they headed to security. Beckman went first, and Lauren was about to hand her ID to a TSA agent when I pulled her back.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye?” I asked.

Lauren hugged and kissed me. “Of course. How thoughtless of me.”

I hugged her tightly. “I love you. If anything happens, I want you to know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I love you too, honey. I have to go now,” she said as she started to leave.

I pulled her back. “Lauren, I know I said it was okay, but I don’t want you to go. It’s not too late. Tell Jim you can’t go and come home with me.”

“Jeff, I can’t back out now. The tickets are bought, and Mr. Beckman needs me.”

“I know I’m being selfish. I just don’t want you to go. I need you too.”

“Jeff, I have to go. Don’t try to stop me. I’m committed to this trip. I will be a great help to Jim. I can’t let him down.”

She looked at me, almost spoke, but then walked to the gate and handed her license to the agent. My eyes misted up, and I’m sure Lauren thought it was because I would miss her. I walked to where Beckman was waiting and watched Lauren with the TSA agent. She seemed flustered but composed herself by the time she reached us.

They walked to the X-ray machines, and I watched Lauren take off her shoes and place them in the bin. She shrugged at me and then walked through the body scanner. At that point, I had reached my limit and quickly left the building. I was no longer angry, just resigned to the fact that Lauren was no longer mine.

I moved my car to long-term parking, retrieved my carry-on, and returned to the terminal. I waited until Lauren’s plane had departed and then went through security myself. I sat down to eat breakfast and waited for my flight. I arrived at the hotel, checked in without problems, and got a shave and crew cut at the on-site barber.

In my room, I dyed my hair black. With sunglasses and a ball cap, I was unrecognizable. The hotel was U-shaped, facing Ocean Avenue, with Lauren and Jim’s room in the right wing and mine in the center. I had a great view of the pool and the ocean.

The hotel had shops on the first floor and an outdoor pool on the second floor. From my balcony, I could see the whole pool area. Under different circumstances, it would be romantic, but now it felt anything but. I called Lauren around 8:00.

She answered, “Hi, honey. I was worried when you didn’t answer at home. Where were you?”

“I stopped at a bar with the guys from work,” I replied.

She had the nerve to say, “You’d better not be hitting on any girls. Remember, you’re a married man. I don’t think I could forgive you if you did.”

The audacity, I thought. She was here with Beckman, yet she warned me.

“Why would you think I’d cheat? Have I ever given you a reason to suspect me? You know I would never do that. I trust you completely, which is why I let you go on this trip. You know that, right?”

“Of course, honey. I feel the same. I don’t know why I said that. I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” she stammered. “Listen, Jeff, I’m really tired from the flight. Will you call tomorrow? I’ll be in a better mood.”

“Sure, Lauren. We can talk tomorrow,” I replied.

“Good night, Jeff. I love you,” Lauren added.

“Good night, Lauren,” I said and hung up.

Did she notice I didn’t say I love you? Would she even care? I spent a restless night imagining what was happening in room 314. I awoke at dawn on Saturday.

After breakfast in my room, I sat on the balcony. I saw Lauren and Beckman walk to the pool. An idea came to me. I moved two large fake plants to the balcony and placed a chair behind them.

Then I set up my camera and tripod, hiding the lens among the foliage to watch the pool area unnoticed. Lauren and Beckman were already lounging on chaises and talking. Lauren faced the arm of the U containing their room, wearing a new red bikini that showcased her cleavage and a high-cut bottom that barely covered her. I zoomed in with my camera but soon realized I couldn’t hear their conversation.

I needed a solution. After half an hour, I captured the first proof of infidelity. Beckman leaned over, turned Lauren’s head, and kissed her. Lauren reciprocated, pulling him in by the neck.

They kissed four times in the next hour before getting up to leave. As they walked off holding hands, it was clear they were a couple. I turned off the camera and retreated to my room, overwhelmed with sadness. Seeing the betrayal was worse than suspecting it.

Determined to hear their conversations, I searched online for spy stores and found one nearby. Disguised, I quickly bought a parabolic microphone that could connect to my camera. Back in my room, I set it up next to the camera, ready for the next opportunity. Sunday morning, I woke up startled at 10:00 a.m., having slept deeply after a long, exhausting day.

I worried I might have missed something, but then saw Lauren and Beckman walking out of Lummus Park. I turned on the camera and mic, made a call to Lauren, and listened as her phone rang, confirming the microphone worked perfectly.

“Who is it?” Beckman asked.

“It’s doofus,” Lauren replied with a laugh.

Beckman laughed too. Suddenly worried, Lauren said, “I should take this. Something bad could have happened. Why else would he call on a Sunday morning?”

She answered the phone. “Jeff, is everything all right? Has something happened?” she asked.

I wanted to say, “No, doofus is fine,” but I kept my anger in check. Instead, I said, “Nothing’s wrong, honey. I was lonely and just wanted to hear your voice. It’s nice to know you’re worried about me.”

“I worry about you all the time, Jeff. It is Sunday morning, and I thought something bad might have happened. You scared the crap out of me,” Lauren barked, annoyed.

I was fed up with Lauren’s attitude. “I didn’t know I would be such a bother. I was feeling lonely and thought talking to my wife would cheer me up. Sorry to bother you.”

I hung up before she could respond. “It’s no bother,” she said into the dead phone. I could hear her talking through the parabolic mic. She turned off her phone and walked to a nearby bench.

“What did he want?” Beckman asked.

“He was lonely and wanted to talk. Why did I snap at him like that?” Lauren wondered aloud.

Beckman replied, “Lauren, we’ve been having this affair for six months. Maybe you’re getting tired of him. It might be time to let him go and get a divorce. Then we could be together without sneaking around, right?”

She snapped, “And your wife won’t mind if we go to your house? We won’t have to sneak around anymore? Jim, you make $38,000 a year. After Jeff’s promotion, he makes almost $200,000. The lovemaking with you is great, but you’re not worth losing Jeff’s potential. Someday he’ll be CEO, and I intend to be there, so no divorce. Besides, you’d never leave your wife and kids.”

“You’re right,” Beckman replied sheepishly. “But we can still enjoy our time here, right?”

“Right, stud,” Lauren smiled, taking his hand and walking out of sight.

Six months of cheating. I thought she was only staying with me for the money. I needed more evidence. Later, I saw Lauren walking to the pool in a tangerine cover-up, with Beckman right behind her.

I turned on my camera and mic. Lauren took off her cover-up, revealing no top, and asked Beckman to help with suntan lotion. He eagerly complied, and I recorded everything. A hotel employee approached and asked Lauren to cover up due to guest complaints.

Lauren sheepishly put on her cover-up, and they retreated to their room. I checked the camera and felt I almost had enough evidence. If I could get them in action, I’d be done. I didn’t call Lauren that Sunday night, and she didn’t call me.

Monday morning, I woke at 9:00 a.m., ordered breakfast, and watched from my balcony. At 6:00 p.m., Beckman stepped onto their balcony in a hotel robe. I aimed my camera and started recording. Lauren came out wearing a similar bathrobe and hugged Beckman from behind.

“Think you can manage another round, stud? I may need another thirty minutes,” she said.

“You’ve worn me out,” he laughed.

They started making out right there. This was the proof of infidelity I needed. It might not matter in court, but it could influence Lauren’s parents and friends. The video was shot in public and would be admissible.

After watching them on the balcony, I knew my marriage was over. The video was undeniable proof of her cheating, adding to her admission during our Sunday call. Seeing it was unbearable. I booked a flight home for the next day at 3:00 p.m. and confirmed my reservation.

I decided to call Lauren, hoping to catch them in the act. She answered on the fifth ring, sounding out of breath.

“Hello,” she mumbled.

“Lauren?” I asked with concern. “Are you okay? You seem out of breath.”

“I was in the shower when I heard the phone. I grabbed a towel and ran to answer. You should see me right now. You’d get some naughty ideas,” she replied.

“I am sure I would, babe. How was your day? Was the seminar productive?”

“Yes, Jeff, we had a good day at the seminar,” she said haltingly.

Something in her voice surprised me. She seemed shocked and disappointed I didn’t suggest phone lovemaking as I usually would.

“How was your day, honey?” she asked.

“I feel down. I miss your voice and your presence. The bed feels big and lonely without you. But you know what that’s like, right? You’re spending your nights alone, aren’t you?”

I finally hinted at my suspicions.

“Right, honey. That’s right,” she lied. “Listen, Jeff, I’m freezing and wet. I have to go now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

“Right. Goodbye, Lauren,” I responded, hanging up.

I packed my equipment and clothes. Feeling hungry, I went to the hotel restaurant with my camera to review the footage. As I walked in, I saw Lauren and Beckman sitting in a booth. I sat two tables away, with my back to Lauren and facing Beckman.

I discreetly snapped a couple of photos without them noticing. Lauren glanced my way once but didn’t recognize me. I reviewed the day’s footage while eating, sneaking peeks at the two of them. Lauren looked my way once more but still didn’t recognize me.

I finished my meal and left before them. Sleep was difficult that night. I sat on the balcony at 7:00 the next morning, having moved the plants back inside. I no longer cared if they saw me.

I had the evidence. At 7:15, a white van with blue FB lettering pulled up. Lauren and Beckman got in, and it drove off.

“I’ll be damned,” I thought. “They are actually doing some work this week.”

I had two things left to do this morning. First, I accessed one of the two computers the hotel provided for guests. I printed two pictures that I took since I got down here. Then I went to the check-in desk and inquired who would be working the desk on Saturday morning.

I found out it was a young man named Carlos. We had a chat, and I slipped him $200. If all went well, Lauren and Beckman would have a little surprise when they checked out Saturday morning. I checked out and flew back to New York to take care of things back home.

Tuesday morning, Jim and I headed to our seminars. By evening, we were both too tired for anything else. Jim fell asleep early while I waited up for Jeff’s call. By 10:00, I was furious he hadn’t called.

By 11:00, I started worrying. Did he know? Should I call him? But I convinced myself Jeff knew nothing, even though I struggled to sleep.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday. Exhausted, we ordered dinner in after a quick shower. Jim wanted lovemaking, but I was too anxious waiting for Jeff’s call. When it didn’t come, I panicked.

Jeff not calling two nights in a row was unusual. Even Jim noticed and became concerned. By 9:00 a.m. Thursday, I called my mom to check on Jeff, explaining I hadn’t heard from him since Monday. She agreed to go over.

Thirty minutes later, my phone rang. It was from our home phone. I answered quickly. “Jeff, I’m so glad you called. Are you okay?”

“It’s me, Lauren,” Mom replied. “Jeff isn’t here. I checked every room. His clothes are in the closets, and the computer is in the office. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Mom,” I lied. “We had a little argument. I guess he’s mad at me. I’m relieved he’s not lying unconscious somewhere. If you hear from him, please ask him to call me.”

“I will. This is so unlike him, Lauren. You must have done something really bad.”

“No, Mom, nothing like that. Just have him call me. Thanks.”

“See you soon, okay, honey? I miss you. See you Saturday. Good night, Lauren.”

After the call, I was even more worried. Where could he be? I had to wait two more days to find out. I decided to call him myself.

I got voicemail on both the home and cell lines. I left messages telling him how much I missed him and to call me if he was mad. I feared our marriage might be over. Friday dragged on.

I wasn’t surprised not to get a call. I tried calling Jeff again but got no response. Jim got no lovemaking that night either. Saturday morning, I was packed and ready early.

By 11:00, we checked out. At the lobby, the desk attendant, Carlos, picked up the phone when he saw us and spoke briefly. As we reached the desk, Jim handed over our key cards and credit card. Carlos processed it and then said, “Mr. Beckman, Mrs. Carlson, I hope you enjoyed your stay at the Victor and hope to see you back again soon.”

Hearing my real name, I was stunned. “What did you call me?” I asked.

“You are Mrs. Carlson, aren’t you?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Why do you think that?” I retorted.

He placed two photos on the counter, one of Jim in the restaurant and one of me sunbathing topless by the pool. Carlos explained, “A man checking out asked if I knew the people in the photos. I told him you were the Beckmans. He corrected me, saying the man is Jim Beckman, but the woman is his wife, Lauren Carlson.”

“He was here? Jeff was here? When did he get here?” I asked.



Carlos gave me a look I couldn’t read. “Let me check.” He typed into his computer and informed me, “Mr. Jeff Carlson checked in last Friday at 4:00 and checked out Tuesday at noon.”

“Oh my God, Jim. He was here all weekend,” I exclaimed.

Carlos turned to me. “You are Mrs. Carlson, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” I admitted, ashamed.

“Good. I have something for you.”

Carlos handed me an envelope. Inside was a note.

“Lauren, goodbye, doofus.”

I felt faint and leaned against Jim for support. He took the note, read it, and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

Before we could leave, Carlos called out, “Mr. Beckman, I have an envelope for you too.”

Jim reluctantly took it and read the note. Then he turned to look out the window, dropping the paper. I picked it up.

“Did you think you’d get off scot-free, a-hole? I spent two hours this morning with your wife. You won’t get the homecoming you expected. I showed her all my evidence. This is just the beginning. I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Jim was still staring out the window. I picked up the photos and letters and put them in my purse. Carlos picked up the phone and said, “Did you hear it all? Was it what you expected? Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”

“Was that my husband?” I asked.

Carlos smiled but said nothing.

“Let’s go. We have a plane to catch,” I told Jim.

On the way to the airport, I called my mom, asking her to meet us at JFK. She asked, “Isn’t Jeff picking you up?”

“I don’t know. We had an argument, and he’s upset with me.”

“Lauren, what exactly was your argument about?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I lied.

“That’s nonsense. It must have been big for him not to call for three days. My God, Lauren, what have you done?”

I started crying. “I haven’t done anything that can’t be fixed. Please come to the airport in case Jeff doesn’t show up.”

“If you’ve done what I think, he won’t be there. I’ll pick you up.”

She hung up. I don’t remember much about the cab ride or boarding the plane. My mind shut down. It wasn’t until we were in the air that I started thinking clearly again.

I pulled out the photos of Jim and me. Jeff must have seen everything on Monday. A cold shiver went down my spine. The guy with the Mets cap must have been Jeff.

I knew a divorce might be in my future. Jeff calling himself doofus in his note meant he had us wired for sound. He must have heard our conversations. Jim sat by the window, staring out blankly.

I spent the flight looking at the letters and pictures, replaying Jeff’s phone calls in my mind. The not knowing terrified me. The last call felt especially wrong. I could only hope Jeff would pick me up at JFK, but I doubted it.

I knew I could do nothing until I saw Jeff again. When the flight landed, I couldn’t wait to leave the plane. I rushed through the terminal, hoping to see Jeff. As I came off the ramp, I saw my mom waiting.

“Is Jeff here?” I asked.

She shook her head no. Jim followed, looking for Jane. He called her, listened, then said, “She hung up. She’s not coming.”

He sat on a bench, clearly crying. Mom pulled Jim up and said, “Let’s go. I’ll drive you both home.”

On the drive, Mom gave me withering looks. Jim stared out the window, tears streaming down his face. Arriving home, I asked Jim to wait in the car and ran inside yelling, “I’m home, Jeff.” No response.

I checked the bedroom. His closet and dresser were empty. Panicking, I ran to Jeff’s office. It was empty.

Realizing he was gone, I sat heavily in the living room. He had four days to plan, and removing his clothes and personal items was just the beginning. Mom handed me an envelope labeled divorce paperwork and a DVD with a note. “If you want to know why, look at the DVD.”

She put the DVD in the player and sat down. Before she started it, Jim asked, “Is everything all right?”

“No. Jeff is gone. His clothes are gone too.”

“I’m sorry it came to this. I’ll call a cab and wait outside. I need to try to repair my marriage,” Jim said, walking out.

After Jim left, Mom started the DVD. The first scene showed me in a red bikini with Jim leering at my rear. I tried to take the remote, but Mom wouldn’t let go. I watched myself kiss Jim, feeling ashamed.

The next scene had audio of us in Lummus Park when I called Jeff doofus. I realized he heard everything. Jim mentioned our six-month affair, and Mom stopped the DVD crying.

“Sorry, Mom. I don’t know how I let this happen,” I said.

Mom gave me a disgusted look and pressed play again. I cringed as I heard myself say to Jim, “Right, stud.” The third scene showed me topless at the pool, letting Jim rub me in public. I felt ashamed, imagining my mom’s disgust.

Next, it showed me pulling Jim into the room for lovemaking. The worst part was the phone call. Jeff had recorded his side.

“You are spending your nights alone, aren’t you, Lauren?” Then there was muffled talking. “Lauren, are you there? You are sleeping alone, right?”

His voice was filled with venom. I had responded, “Right, honey. That’s right.” If I had heard his tone, I would have known he knew.

The next scene showed a hand covering the camera lens, and the image moved wildly before settling on a view of the balcony. Jeff appeared, dismantling the microphone and packing up the tripods. A scream pierced the night: my scream during a peak of pleasure. Jeff’s head turned toward the sound.

Agony was on his face. He sobbed quietly for a few seconds, then pulled himself together and said, “That’s the second time she has done this to you, Jeff. It will never happen again.” He turned off the camera, ending the show.

Mom hung her head and cried. Seeing Jeff’s tears filled me with self-loathing. When he mentioned the second time, I realized he had cried over me before. His determination that it would never happen again filled me with fear for my marriage.

Mom asked, “What are you going to do now? Do you want to save your marriage or run off with that guy outside?”

“My God, Mom, I love Jeff. Of course I want to save my marriage. I’m not running off with Jim. He has a wife and two kids. He’ll never leave them.”

“Whether Jim saves his marriage isn’t his choice, and saving yours isn’t up to you either. That’s Jeff’s decision. He’s had days to decide. You already have divorce papers on the table. If you want to keep Jeff, you better talk to him soon and give him a good reason to take you back. Don’t wait too long. He has a head start.”

As soon as Mom left, I called Jeff. He hadn’t answered any of my calls, but I had to try. Surprisingly, he answered on the second ring. His voice was emotionless, not even angry.

“Lauren, what do you want?” Jeff asked.

“Jeff, we need to talk. Will you?” I pleaded.

“Sure. When?”

“Tomorrow, anytime you can,” I replied.

“Okay. Tomorrow at two. Goodbye.”

His voice was cold and emotionless, as if he had already made up his mind. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. The next afternoon, I saw his car pull into the driveway. Instead of the front door, he walked around to the rear.

I ran into the kitchen and sat at the table set for lunch. Jeff walked in, surprised to see me.

“Hi, Jeff. Thanks for meeting me.”

He nodded and sat, pushing the plate away when I offered lunch.

“I’ve already eaten,” he said, his expression urging me to start talking.

“Jeff, I’m so sorry,” I began, but he cut me off.

“I know. You’re sorry you got caught, or sorry for cheating?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I got caught, but mostly I’m sorry I ever started cheating. The pain I’ve caused you is tearing me apart. Can you forgive me? Even if you do, I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

He stayed silent, emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he spoke, surprising me.

“Do you know that in the mornings, I would lay in bed and watch you sleep? Or after my shower, I’d sit and watch you. Sometimes I’d catch you opening one eye and saying, ‘What?’ Then I’d smile, laugh quietly, and kiss your forehead.”

“You looked so peaceful, so beautiful to me. I’d gaze at your face, your eyes, every curve. I thought how lucky I was to have you, my guardian angel. But now the color and light you brought to my life are gone.”

“Since Wednesday, every morning I still smile, thinking how lucky I am to have you, until I remember. Then the pain returns. Every morning, I love you a little less, and the pain is not as bad.”

I realized my mom was right. I waited too long. If I had come home Wednesday night, maybe I could have made a difference. Now it was too late.

Jeff had decided on divorce, the last thing I wanted.

“Please, Jeff, don’t make a hasty decision. I know I’ve been terrible and don’t deserve any consideration, but I beg you, give me a chance to make it up to you. Let me show you I can be the wife you deserve. Please give me a second chance.”

I waited for his response, seeing tears in his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek, and I wiped it away with my thumb.

“I swore you wouldn’t make me cry again. Now look at me,” he said sadly.

“Jeff, on the DVD, you mentioned this was the second time you cried over me. When was the first time?”

“Lauren, I fell in love with you the first time I saw you get out of your dad’s car. My best memories are of that summer we spent together. My worst memory is when you ditched me at the Harvest Dance for another guy. You left me to be ridiculed by Billy Barber and the football team.”

“I cried many nights alone in my bed. So Monday night was the second time I cried over you. The tear you just wiped away is the third.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff. I know I keep saying it, but it was just foolish lovemaking. He’s gone, and I don’t care. I will never see him again. All I need is you.”

“I don’t know, Lauren. I saw you do things in public. You went topless for him and let him touch you at the pool.”

What he said next sent shivers through my body. He shook his head and said, “I heard the scream. I know I can’t compete with that. I won’t compete with another man. I won’t compete with the memory of that other man for my wife. If we stay together, I will always be competing with his ghost.”

“You won’t have to compete with anybody.”

“You will never understand unless it happens to you.”

Again, Jeff sadly shook his head and began to rise from his seat. I thought he was about to leave, and I saw my marriage falling apart. Desperation took over. I leapt from my chair, knocking it over.

I ran to Jeff, hugging him tightly and babbling, “Don’t go, Jeff. Please don’t leave me. When I saw your letter at the hotel, I realized how much you and our marriage mean to me. Please forgive me and take me back.”

He loosely put his arms around me, gently stroking my hair. After a while, he placed his hands on my shoulders and gently moved me back to look into my eyes.

“Whenever I thought of our future, I saw us together. A house with a white picket fence. Two sons and a daughter like you for me to spoil. I imagined us planning weddings, celebrating anniversaries, and growing old together, our love supporting us through hard times.”

“Now I see nothing but a big black hole where there used to be love. I see the numbing darkness of a life without you.”

He backed away, saying, “I have to go. I have something to do.”

“Don’t go. We have so much to discuss.”

“No. I have to write a thank-you letter.”

“What letter could be more important than trying to repair our marriage? And who do you need to write to?”

“Ronnie Milsap.”

“Why? What does he have to do with this?”

“He helped me to dump a cheating wife.”

He turned and walked out the door, whistling a tune I later learned was “Stranger in My House.”

Five years later, my wife asked me to bring the car around to the front of the house. We were headed to my parents’ for a Memorial Day cookout. I exited through the back door, passing the newly built ten-car garage to the cliff overlooking the beach below, across the Long Island Sound to the Connecticut shore. I no longer lived in the rented house in Nassau Shores but in the old town of Muttontown.

Turning back to the garage, I had to choose which car to take to my parents’ home. My eyes settled on garage number five. I clicked the remote and watched as the door lifted to reveal my newest acquisition. I closed the door and started the engine, loving the sound of the powerful rebuilt 390 V8 Ford engine.

As the car cleared the garage, I lowered the convertible top and drove around to the circular drive in front of the house. I got out and admired my latest pride and joy, a 1961 Ford Thunderbird convertible with gleaming chrome, black paint, interior, and roof. God, she was beautiful. My wife opened the door and frowned.

“The baby and I can’t ride with the top down. You have to put it up.”

I sighed and told Nina, “Okay, I’ll put it up, but it looks so much cooler with the top down.”

“If you ever want me to be in it with my top down again, you better put it up now.”

My mind flashed back to the day I first got the car and we went driving with the top down. Nina pulled her top down, and I quickly hit the button to put it up. Nina smiled smugly, knowing how to wield her considerable lovemaking power. I met Nina two months before my divorce from Lauren was finalized.

The one thing that Mr. Diamond, the bank president, and his ex-wife agreed on was their adopted child from Romania. While they hated each other, they both loved that little girl. The Diamonds ran a charity to help Romanian orphans. I knew I was expected to attend the $1,000-per-plate fundraiser, as I had become a favorite of Mr. Diamond.

I was seated at his table next to his wife. There was an empty seat next to me. Before sitting down, I noticed the card on the table reserved for Ioanina Ciranova. As I sat, I nodded hello to Mr. Diamond and kissed the cheek of his ex-wife.

I took a second glance at my boss because of his mischievous smile. Moments later, a stunning woman in black sat next to me. Mr. Diamond beamed and introduced me to Ioanina Ciranova, pronounced Yo-a-nina, a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model. I later found out that Nina was a Romanian orphan herself and on the charity board.

Nina and I hit it off that night. She told me about her horrific life in Romanian orphanages, nearly bringing me to tears. I wanted to protect her. She said she felt my empathy and wanted to know more about me.

Many men asked her to dance, but she turned them all down. I didn’t ask, thinking she didn’t want to. Nina took matters into her own hands and asked me to dance. I said yes.

We dated for two years before marrying at Mr. Diamond’s estate in Southampton, New York. I thought his wife was a bit young for him, at thirty-five to his sixty-one, but he always smiled, so what do I know? Our first year was great. When Nina told me she wanted a baby, I asked if she realized having a baby would put her modeling career on hold.

She looked into my eyes and said, “The one thing I want most in this world is to have your baby.”

A big smile crossed her face as she added, “Maybe more than one.”

I’m sure I smiled back and suggested, “Let’s start trying right away.”

We both laughed and ran to the bedroom. A year and a half later, our son, Jeff Jr., was born. After settling Jeff Jr. in the car seat, we got in the car. The only non-stock part of the T-Bird was the air conditioner I had installed.

From experience, I knew Nina didn’t want to spoil her hair after getting dressed up. She’d rather ride in 100-degree heat than have one hair out of place. The AC made it more pleasant for both of us. As we walked into my dad’s backyard, where he was barbecuing, I was shocked to see Lauren and her mom, Cheryl, talking to my mom.

Nina, carrying Jeff Jr., walked to the table and sat down. Mom quickly took her favorite and only grandson from Nina. I went to Dad and asked, “What are they doing here?”

Dad said, “Keep your voice down. Your mom invited them. She and Cheryl have become close since Frank died. Lauren was all alone, so your mother invited her too. You know she had a hard time getting rid of that a-hole Billy Barber after you two divorced.”

“I knew she married Billy after I met Nina. I didn’t think she was that stupid.”

“Well, she did cheat on me with that idiot Beckman. I thought for sure they’d divorce, but his wife took him back. She did have two kids to worry about, which must make a difference.”

For a long time, I hired a PI to keep tabs on him. Whenever he was close to getting a good job, I made sure word got out that he was a bad employee, and he lost out. This went on until he or his wife figured out I was behind his bad luck. Jane Beckman called and directly asked if Jim’s job troubles were my doing.

Before I could answer, she told me it hurt not just Jim but also her and their two kids. She said it was horrible what he did to me but pleaded not to take it out on her children. I didn’t directly admit involvement but assured her he’d have an easier time getting a job from now on. She thanked me profusely and apologized for him ruining my marriage.

I have no idea what he’s doing now since I let the PI go, along with all the remaining hate I had for him. It was actually a big relief to let go of that baggage. I took my son from Nina and greeted Lauren and Cheryl. Then I walked over to a bench near the kitchen door.

Moments later, Cheryl Scavo sat next to me and reached out to hold Jeff Jr. We sat quietly as she played with my eight-month-old son. Finally, with tears in her eyes, she lamented, “He should have been my grandson. I would have made the best grandma. You know that, don’t you, Jeff?”

I looked closely at Cheryl. She had aged over the last five years. I knew our divorce had been hard on her. She always liked me and was thrilled when Lauren and I got married.

“I know you would have, Mom. You were a great mom to Lauren, and I know you would have been the best grandma too.”

“Thank you, Jeff. I have missed you these last five years. Oh, and congratulations on your promotion at the bank. Your dad tells me you’re now in the number two position.”

“Yes. Mr. Diamond finally retired with some pressure from the board. They moved Howard Goldman to the top spot, and he made me the Executive Vice President in charge of operations. Basically, if I keep my nose clean, when Howard leaves, I should move up to president.”

“Jeff, Lauren wanted to talk to you but was afraid to come over. Can I tell her it’s okay?”

“Sure, Mom. It’s been five years. I’m sure we can talk civilly.”

Cheryl went back to the table and spoke to Lauren. Before Lauren could get up, Nina came to me and said, “Be gentle with her, Jeff. She’s very fragile. Don’t upset her.”

I nodded. Nina walked away as Lauren approached.

“Hi, Jeff. You look good.”

“Hi, Lauren. So do you.”

“Nina is beautiful, Jeff. Inside and out. And a good person. I can tell.”

“Thank you. I’ve been lucky to have two beautiful wives.”

“That’s not true. I may have been attractive outside, but inside, not so much.”

“That’s not true. You’re beautiful inside and out. You got blinded by Jim Beckman. I’m sure it was something I did to push you away.”

“That’s really not true. Do you remember what I did at the dance with Billy Barber?”

“What did you do there?”

“No, it was me. There’s something inside me that screws up all the good things. Something that’s not so pretty.”

“Let’s change the subject. Mom tells me you got another promotion at work. I always knew you’d rise to the top.”

“Well, good things have happened to me in the last five years.”

I looked at Nina and smiled. When I turned back to Lauren, I saw she looked at Nina too. She turned to me and smiled.

“Jeff, there’s one thing I need to clear up from that time five years ago.”

I hadn’t wanted to go there, but she brought it up.

“It was the phone call where I called you doofus. I want you to know that was the first time I ever called you that. To this day, I don’t know why I did it.”

“That’s not why I brought that day up. It’s about what I said to Jim about you. I told him you’d be president of the bank and how much money you made. I realize it sounded like I only wanted to be with you for the money. That’s not what I meant at all.”

“I knew you’d be a success. I was always so proud of you. I just wanted to share in your accomplishments. It was never about the money. Please believe that.”

“When I first heard it, I was sure it was about the money. It wasn’t until I let Nina hear what you said that she suggested I misunderstood. She thought that from the look on your face, you were bragging about me to Jim. It made me feel better about you. I think that’s when I started to forgive.”

“Then there’s one more thing I need to thank you for.”

“What’s that?”

“What you did for Jane Beckman. She called me crying about what you’d been doing to Jim. She asked me to call you, but I told her it would be better coming from her. I gave her your number at the bank. She called to tell me that Jim finally got a job that could support them. She wanted me to thank you for her.”

“I’m glad it turned out well. I never thought about her or the children. I’m glad it’s over.”

I stood up and hugged Lauren. As we walked to the table, Lauren was crying happy tears, and Nina was smiling happily at me. We sat at the table and enjoyed the day. On the ride home that night, the convertible top was up, but Nina had her top down. It turned out to be another wonderful day.