I entered the house from the garage and made my way into the kitchen shortly after 4:00 in the afternoon, my usual time to get off work. The company I work for has several clients in London, so I start at noon to catch their evening business hours. It took me a while to get used to the schedule, but now I actually like having my mornings free. When I walked into the kitchen, I instinctively glanced at our message board, but saw only one note. Working late.
Damn, that meant I'd be eating alone again tonight. When Sarah and I were first married and living in that cramped apartment on East Boulevard, we hung a whiteboard on the kitchen wall to coordinate our schedules. When we bought this house in the Dworth neighborhood, we continued that tradition. At first, we left each other awkward little love notes. I remember leaving her a message that read, "Can't wait to get home from work." "Sweetheart, miss you already.
When I got home that same day, she'd written, "Miss you even more and don't call me sweetheart at work." We'd first met at a small bakery downtown, and I'd started calling her sweetheart back then. Now that she'd established herself in Charlotte's political circles, she didn't want others to know what I called her. But it was hard for me to give up the habit. Yes, I know the notes and nicknames sound a bit sentimental, but they meant a lot to me, especially now that the warmth in our relationship seemed to have cooled. These days, I was lucky to find even a tur note telling me what she'd be doing and when she'd be home, or like today, simply working late.
I'm not naive. I know that even the most brilliant diamonds lose their luster over time, and routine can dull the glow of new love. But for the past year, it seemed to me that more than just habit had changed our relationship. It wasn't just that we'd stopped leaving each other love notes. We'd gotten to the point where we hardly spent any time together.
My work schedule was part of the problem. Of course, I worked afternoons and evenings while she kept traditional business hours, but her job compounded the issue. You see, Sarah is a realtor, and while her office has regular business hours, she's pretty much at the mercy of any seller or buyer. Want to make an offer on a house at 9:00 at night? Sarah will come to you to help with the paperwork.
Trying to sell your home? Sarah will organize an open house that keeps her busy all weekend. You get the idea. But that's not all. Two years ago, Sarah got it into her head that she was going to run for city council in our district.
I tried my best to talk her out of it, but friends and colleagues kept encouraging her. I wasn't too worried at the time because our longtime council member had gotten two/3 of the vote in the last election. But halfway through the campaign, his wife suffered a stroke and he withdrew to take care of her. Before I realized what was happening, my wife had taken a seat on Charlotte City Council. This, of course, led to a whole new set of responsibilities.
It wasn't just the monthly council meetings. Soon Sarah was meeting with constituents, serving on task forces, and doing all the things that elected officials do. For crying out loud, when I stood with her on the platform at the Omni Hotel on election night, when she won, I was proud of her success. When I saw how happy she was in her new role, I was happy for her. But as the weeks went by, our time together dwindled.
When I tried to broach the subject, she became defensive, accusing me of jealousy and lack of support. All of this would have been bad enough, but over the past year, I'd noticed a change in her attitude. It wasn't just that she'd grown colder toward me. Lately, when we did spend time together, I'd felt a condescending attitude from her, bordering on contempt. It wasn't anything overt, of course.
It was just the way I felt. When I had free time, I thought a lot about our situation. You won't be surprised to learn that it put me in a dark state of mind. I worried about the loss of time with her and resented the demands that had come between us. I still remember one evening when we were infatuated with each other.
We had just gone to the bedroom when the phone rang. You guessed it, one of her real estate clients with an emergency she had to handle. Even today, that incident still haunts me. But to be honest, I also remember the time I had to cancel our weekend plans when one of my company's biggest clients had a network outage. Now, I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to make sense of it all.
Maybe I wasn't being fair to Sarah. Maybe I was just jealous because other people needed so much of her time. But as a network engineer, I developed the ability to identify problems from seemingly insignificant symptoms. My intuition told me it wasn't just the factors I'd considered so far. And it wasn't just our conflicting schedules that made me so uncomfortable.
I realized it was about her attitude toward me. When she first became a council woman, she'd been so eager to tell me about everything happening in the council and the mayor's office. But now, she didn't bring them up anymore. Maybe it was just that the novelty had worn off. Or maybe she decided I wasn't worth talking to.
It was a possibility that kept me on edge. Suddenly, I had a truly dark thought. What if she was having an affair? I immediately dismissed the terrible idea. My Sarah would never cheat on me, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head because it seemed to answer many of the questions I had.
What was she really doing all those nights she was working late? She could have been seeing clients, but she could also have been seeing a lover. Why didn't she tell me where she was going anymore? Was it because she just didn't care? Or because she didn't want me to know?
Why was she so condescending when we were together? Did she despise me now? The longer I sat there thinking, the more I felt angry suspicion wash over me. I had to do something to stop this train of thought before I did something stupid and irreversible. So, I got up from the table, put on my old work clothes, got out the lawn mower, and started working on our yard until it was too dark to see.
The physical exercise helped a little. I still couldn't help thinking about the situation, but I'd calmed down enough to develop a plan of action. When problems start on the network, the first thing I do is run a series of diagnostics to determine the cause. I needed to do the same with my marriage, run diagnostics, and find out what had gone wrong. Over a dinner of leftovers, I pondered what diagnostic tools I could use.
I was well aware of the many electronic devices that could easily be used to spy on someone. But the more I thought about it, the more complicated the problem became. Sure, I could set up microphones and cameras around the house, but with Sarah spending so little time at home, it was unlikely to yield anything useful. I was concerned about the time she spent out of the house. I thought about putting a GPS tracker on her car, but what good would that do?
Between real estate showings and city council meetings, my wife was on the road most of the time, parking at hotels where she was constantly attending luncheons and holding meetings in conference rooms. I considered miniature recording devices or trying to monitor her cell phone. But something held me back. I knew the answer, but I didn't want to use it because I thought it would be expensive. But hiring a professional was clearly the right decision.
So, I sat down at the computer and typed detective agencies Charlotte, North Carolina into the search engine. That didn't help much. There were dozens of them. Some had ratings, but I'm pretty skeptical of online reviews. It's too easy to fabricate them.
Does Craig's List have a section for detective agencies? Angie's List. Damn. Next, in my search, I noticed an entry about a Channel 9 news story. Clicking on it, I discovered that a year ago they'd done a report on local detective agencies.
Channel 9. I went to high school with Amanda Clark, the woman who's now the news director at that station. We'd even dated briefly in college. Nothing serious, but we'd parted as friends. Called her.
Hey, Amanda. Long time no see. Any chance of grabbing a beer tonight after work? She was pleasantly surprised to hear from me. I think I can make it, Mike.
It's a slow news day, so unless something breaks, I'll be there. When she walked into Murphy's Pub on South End, I remembered why I'd been interested in her. She was still as attractive as when we'd met, but now she had the confident bearing of a successful professional. Suited her well. We chatted for a while, discussing mutual friends and our lives after college.
But eventually I discreetly changed the subject. Didn't you recently do a story on local detective agencies? She looked at me shrewdly. Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry. I was wondering why you didn't mention Sarah.
The fact that they have more employees only increases the likelihood of someone gossiping. Does that make sense? Definitely. And you probably don't want a one-man operation because getting what you need in a timely manner can be a problem. It's difficult for the owner to do more than one or two cases at the same time.
I nodded. That made sense, too. If you're looking for something in between, we've had good feedback about Foster Investigations. It's not the cheapest in town, but the clients we talked to said they're thorough, professional, and get results in a reasonable time frame. She paused.
Mike, the private detective business is by nature a bit sketchy, but you could do a lot worse than Foster. Sounded good to me, and I thanked her. But as I got up to leave, she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. It was good to see you, Mike. I hope things work out.
Keep me posted. I promised her I would. As I drove home, I thought about our conversation. Damn, how I'd wanted to keep my marital problem secret. I hoped Amanda would be discreet.
The next day, her recommendation still made sense to me. So, I called Foster Investigations to make an appointment. As luck would have it, the woman I spoke to said I could meet with Bradley Foster himself if I showed up first thing in the morning. I'll be there. I promised.
Fortunately, Sarah got home on time that evening and we had dinner together for the first time in days. Given what I was about to do, I was nervous about having to make conversation with her. But I needn't have worried. She spent the entire evening ranting about the arrogance of some businessman who was thinking of running against her in the next election. I didn't have to say much or contribute much of anything.
The next morning, I got up early and skipped breakfast. so I wouldn't be late for my appointment. After leaving a note for Sarah on the message board, I got in my car and drove up town. To my surprise, traffic was light and I arrived earlier than expected. I checked Foster Investigations address again and realized it was near my favorite coffee shop, The Daily Grind. When this establishment opened 10 years ago, there was a lot of talk about whether it could compete with Starbucks.
But apparently, I wasn't the only one who liked the place. Even at such an early hour, I was lucky to find an empty table. As I sat there sipping my coffee and eating a breakfast sandwich, more and more customers came in. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the table next to me. I looked up to see a large red-faced man yelling at a young Latino woman sitting alone.
You're just nursing that one cup. What gives you the right to take a table when other people want to sit down? The young woman sat silent, clearly stunned by the man's sudden outburst. This seemed to enrage her accuser even more. "You people come here and camp out like you own the place.
Why don't you find somewhere else to sit?" He reached out and slid his hand across the table, spilling coffee all over the floor. Before I knew it, I was between the woman's table and the man's table. Why don't you leave her alone? She was here before you and she has every right to this table. You should buy her another cup of coffee and apologize for being rude.
The man's face grew even redder and I tensed, expecting him to lash out at me, but his gaze suddenly shifted to something behind me. When I turned around, I saw the owner standing there. The owner wasn't a big guy, but he had a sawed-off pool cue in his hands. you," he bellowed at my antagonist. "Get out of my store and don't come back. You have no right to bully one of my customers, and I sure as hell don't want your business." I thought the man might decide to pick a fight after all, but he looked at the owner's pool queue, then at me, and finally decided not to risk it.
"Fine," he called out as he walked out of the coffee shop. "I'm glad to leave this place. It sucks anyway." When the noise subsided, I turned to the shocked woman. I'm so sorry about this, miss. Can I get you another cup?
The woman looked at me shyly. You don't know me. Why did you do that? I shrugged. I don't know.
I guess I hate bullies. She smiled and held out her hand. I am Jessica Rodriguez and I am very grateful for what you have done. There are many who do not feel what you feel and even fewer who are willing to step in to help a stranger. You're welcome, Jessica.
I'm Michael Thompson, and I'm glad I could help. At that moment, the owner returned with two cups of coffee. I brought a fresh cup for each of you. I apologize for what happened, and I hope you feel comfortable coming here in the future. We assured him we'd be back.
And then Jessica looked at me. Would you like to have coffee with me? It will free up your table for others. If you don't mind the company, I'd love to join you. I sat down next to her and we started chatting, sipping from steaming paper cups.
She shook her head sorrowfully. I ended up here completely by accident. I'm starting a new job nearby and I got here early because I didn't want to be late for my first day. She took another sip and looked at me. Do you come here often?
Not as often as I'd like, actually. I have a personal business meeting first thing today, and I didn't want to be late. She nodded, then looked at her watch. Actually, I should probably get going. She stood up and held out her hand again.
Thanks again, Michael, for coming to my rescue. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I won't forget what you did. I shook her hand and watched her walk out the door. I took another sip of coffee and decided it was time to hit the road myself. Leaving the coffee shop, I headed down the sidewalk toward the Foster Investigation's address.
Looking up, I noticed Jessica walking ahead of me in the same direction. When she stopped at a stoplight, I caught up with her at the intersection. She noticed me, smiled, and nodded. After crossing the street and walking a little more, she looked back and saw me following her. She frowned.
Damn, I don't want her to think I'm following her. Then, to my horror, she entered the lobby of the same building where I was headed. I deliberately waited a little longer, hoping that when I entered, she would be gone. But when I opened the door, I saw her standing in the lobby with her arms folded and a concerned expression on her face. Look, she said as I hesitantly approached her.
I really appreciate what you did at the cafe, but that doesn't mean you have the right to. No, no, I interrupted. I promise I won't follow you. At least not intentionally. It's just that I have an appointment in this building.
She looked at me skeptically, then turned and walked toward the elevators. I followed her and when the door opened, I got in too. She pressed the fourth floor button, then turned to me questioningly. I'm going to the fourth floor. I told her helplessly.
She frowned again, but said nothing. When she came out on the fourth floor, I backed up, but she started walking down the hallway toward Foster Investigations. As I slowly followed her, she turned around and frowned. Suddenly, as we approached the door to the agency, a look of understanding appeared on her face and the frown dissipated. She stopped and turned to me.
Good luck with your business, Michael. I understand now. I nodded at her. Thank you. And good luck with your new job, Jessica.
When I walked into Foster Investigation's main entrance, all I could think was, "Damn, she must know why I'm here today." Now, I had two people who knew I needed a detective. After I gave my name to the receptionist, I was not immediately ushered into Bradley Foster's office. I didn't know how well the agency was doing, but at least I had a senior specialist, and that was something. If anyone matched the last name Foster, it was him. He definitely looked masterful.
My height is just above average, and when he stood, I looked up at him. Not only that, but he was built like a linebacker. I felt a little intimidated. As soon as we shook hands and I began to explain why I had come to see him, he quickly put me at ease with his professionalism. He skillfully guided me through a series of questions about my wife, my suspicions, her habits, and a number of other factors I might not have thought of.
This guy really knew his stuff. After half an hour of discussion, he leaned back in his chair. The fact that your wife is a member of the council actually makes the job a little eacar. She's used to being in public and having strangers around her. Surveillance shouldn't be a problem.
A warning bell rang in my mind. Your men must be careful. If it becomes known that I'm following her, it could cause a major political scandal. He smiled like a used car salesman. Mr.
Thompson. We pride ourselves on our discretion and professionalism. Your wife and her entourage will have no idea that she is under surveillance. I still wasn't convinced. So, what methods will you use?
Audio, video, GPS tracking. He leaned forward, crossed his arms, and gave me a piercing stare. I won't answer your question because I don't want you looking for watchers or devices. I've had clients who lost weeks of work when they accidentally alerted their spouse. Then he frowned.
Also, I don't want you trying to conduct surveillance on your own. For the next 2 weeks, you are to stick to your normal routine and behave perfectly normally in the presence of your wife. We're professionals. We don't need help, and we sure as hell don't need amateurs getting in the way. Do I make myself clear?
I leaned back in my chair. Absolutely. And then the other thing he said hit me. You said two weeks. Do you think you can get what you need in just two weeks?
He relaxed and gave me another of his smiles. You told me that you've really noticed a change in your wife's behavior over the past 6 months. That leads me to believe that if she is indeed having an affair, it is in its hottest phase. She wants to see him or her. I hadn't thought of that possibility as often as she can.
At the same time, she's already convinced she's getting away with it. I really expect that we will be able to give you a definitive answer a week from this Friday. At the very least, we will be able to let you know of any suggestive behavior that requires further investigation. I couldn't help but be impressed. This man not only had the necessary skills for the job, but also had a pretty good grasp of human nature.
I think I had chosen the right diagnostic tool for the job. Okay, I'm convinced. So, how much is all this going to cost? Without blinking an eye, he quoted me a figure that made me wse. I know it sounds like a lot, he continued calmly.
But remember, we'll be using multiple people, vehicles, and expensive electronic equipment. More importantly, we will give you answers. You've already told me how uncertainty plagues you. How much is your peace of mind worth? He was right.
I pulled out my checkbook. For the next two weeks, I felt very uncomfortable. I had never paid attention to myself, so I didn't know what my normal behavior was. Do I look suspicious? Am I showing too much interest in my wife?
Am I asking too many questions or not enough? But it soon became obvious that it didn't matter how I acted around her. Sarah treated me with the same indifference she had shown for months. When I tried to ask her about her job, she acted as if she were doing me a favor by answering. It was also obvious that she thought I wouldn't understand her work on the council anyway.
I felt more like an irritant than her husband. The following weekend, trying to show interest, I suggested we go out tonight. I needn't have bothered. She immediately brushed it off. I have open houses on Saturday and Sunday, and you know how they always exhaust me.
Damn. We may have lived in the same house, but we were more like neighbors than husband and wife. I was tormented by memories of what our life together had been like. We had so much in common, so many common interests and favorite activities. I remember sitting together and talking for hours about our dreams and how we could fulfill them.
Most painful was the memory of how passionately we loved each other. We would pass each other in the hallway and the next moment find ourselves wrapped in each other's arms, desperate to quench our desire. Where did all that love and passion go? Ironically, the closer we got to our dreams, the more we drifted apart. I realized that I was passionate about my career, not only because of the financial rewards, but also because I found my work intellectually stimulating.
Again, I wondered, had I played a role in pushing Sarah away? But if I did, I felt Sarah was just as much to blame. She was a good realtor, but she had always wanted more. Being elected to the council had been a dream come true for her, and lately she had started hinting at running for mayor. I couldn't understand why she was never satisfied with what she had.
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that our career paths had contributed to the current state of affairs in our marriage. But even with all the stress, a little voice in my head kept warning me that there was something more I was overlooking. Was I being paranoid, or was there a real threat? As much as I hated spying on Sarah, I decided I was doing the right thing. Foster was right.
Peace of mind was worth a lot. All in all, these two weeks felt like a patient scheduled for exploratory surgery. I was scared to death of what would be discovered, but I couldn't wait for it to be over. Before the meeting, I stopped by the daily grind for my favorite coffee, a prisoner's last meal. Sitting there, I looked around, wanting to see if Jessica was there, but she wasn't.
Thankfully, the bigot I'd run into didn't show up either. Finally, it was time. I walked the three blocks to Foster'ss agency like a condemned man walking the green mile. While I was giving my name to the receptionist, Foster startled me by coming out and walking me back to his office. Oh, this can't be good news.
He sat down and placed his hands solemnly on the folder on his desk, and his face turned into a mask. I couldn't stand the tension any longer. So, what's the verdict? What did you find? Instead of answering, he slid the folder toward me.
I think it's best if you see for yourself," he muttered, and my heart fluttered in my chest. I hesitantly opened the folder and picked up the first photograph. It showed my wife standing outside a house I had never seen, holding the door open for a young couple. In the corner of the photo, I could see a barely visible for sale sign. I quickly picked up the next picture.
It was obviously taken from the visitors gallery and showed Sarah sitting in her seat in the council chamber below. Below it was a picture of her talking with Mayor Robinson in the hallway of city hall. After that was a picture of Sarah walking through the door of her real estate agency. Confused, I hastily flipped through the rest of the photos in the folder. Each of them looked perfectly harmless, exactly as I'd expected my wife to look.
When I looked at Foster in confusion, his grim face was replaced by a wide grin. Mr. Thompson, I'm happy to report that your wife is not cheating on you. Not only has she not gone sneaking off to a lover, but she has observed absolutely no behavior that we would consider even remotely suspicious. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head in a pose of relaxation.
Your wife, Mr. Thompson, is multifaceted. She's a dedicated elected official. She's a busy and successful realtor. She's a driven woman.
But I can assure you without reservation that she is not an unfaithful wife. Then his face took on a more serious expression. I know you had questions about her and I suspect the last two weeks have been very difficult for you, but now you can put all those doubts and fears out of your mind and focus on enjoying your marriage. He gave a friendly smile. Most of the time, my job is to give husbands or wives terrible news about their spouse.
I really like it when I get to break some good news for a change. He stood up to shake my hand. You're a lucky man, Mr. Thompson. I was thrilled.
The doctor had just told me that spot on the X-ray was nothing. Relief came over me like cool water on a hot day. I shook his hand again, struggling to find the words to express my gratitude. The big man smiled and reached into his desk drawer to pull out an envelope. Here's the rest of the bill for our work.
I hope you will feel that the money was not wasted. If you pay the receptionist on your way out, it will save us from having to send the bill home to you. I don't think you'd want us to do that. He left. I don't want to use all those hackneyed cliches about walking on air.
Suffice it to say that I left Foster'ss office in a happier mood than I had been in a long, long time. First, I simply enjoyed the relief. But soon, a new thought struck me. I need to get to work on rebuilding my marriage immediately. I need to show Sarah how much I love her.
I need to stop taking her for granted. By the time I got back to the office, I had a whole list of things I wanted to do. Luckily, there was nothing on Sarah's schedule for the weekend, so I was free to have a blast. I started taking notes. Friday night, flowers, take out from that little Mediterranean restaurant Sarah loves, bubble bath, new sheets on the bed.
I'm going to make tonight all about her. Saturday breakfast in bed, a trip to the spa, more flowers, reservations at the best restaurant in town, a full body oil massage, and then the sex we had when we were first married. I smiled happily. This is going to be good. As I expected, Sarah didn't get home until 7:00 from the zoning committee meeting.
Staggering, she walked into the living room and sank down on the couch. "I'm tired," she moaned. I don't know if I can cook tonight. Suddenly, her head came up. What is that delightful smell?
Then she looked around and noticed a flower arrangement in a vase on the coffee table. Where did those flowers come from? I walked over to the couch and knelt down beside her, smiling broadly. These beautiful flowers are for my beautiful wife, and what you're smelling is dinner already prepared and waiting. She looked at me in amazement, then grabbed the vase.
"These are beautiful," she exclaimed. "Let's take them to the dining room so I can enjoy them at dinner." I hurried into the kitchen to prepare her plate. And by the time she took her seat, everything was ready. Then I slipped a clean towel over my arm and showed her the bottle of her favorite wine, I had chilled in the refrigerator. "Would you care for a glass, my lady?" She nodded gratefully.
And when our glasses were filled, we began to eat. After a few minutes, she set her fork aside. This is wonderful. You haven't done anything like this in a long time. To what do I owe such luxurious treatment?
Then her face darkened. Have you done something you feel guilty about? I knew this question would follow. Yes, I said boldly. I've neglected you for far too long.
You've been working like a Trojan, doing the equivalent of two full-time jobs, and I've been so consumed with my work that I haven't taken the time to appreciate you. I'm lucky to have you as my wife, and I'm going to make sure you know that I feel that way. She sat like that for a moment, and then her face spread into a smile. We really did neglect each other, didn't we? Then she lowered her eyes and gestured toward the table.
Is there anything else? Sure," I said enthusiastically. "After dinner, I'll run you a bubble bath, and you can soak as long as you want to relieve all the aches. Then I'll tuck you into bed so you'll get a good night's sleep." I grinned. "You're going to need it because I have more planned for tomorrow." I hadn't seen a smile like that from her in a long time.
Later, when she climbed under the covers after her bath, she stared at me in surprise. Are these new sheets? She inquired, running her fingers over the pillowcase. The finest cotton with the highest thread count I could find. I smuggly answered her.
Now lie back and enjoy happy dreams. She gave me another grateful smile and closed her eyes as I turned out the light and closed the bedroom door. When I went to see her a couple hours later, she didn't even move. The next morning, she was still asleep when I walked in with a tray laden with eggs benedict, hash brown potatoes, and mimosas. Don't be long.
I warned her. You have a spa appointment at 10:00. She shook her head in surprise. You spoil me, you know. I hope I do.
You deserve it. Oh, and after you're done at the spa, why don't you run over to South Park Mall and see if there's anything you'd like to wear to Iel Forno tonight? She glowed as I came down the stairs. Dinner that night was special. Sarah had indeed found a new dress, and when I saw it, I knew I would be lucky to have her with me.
When the waiter brought the bottle of Procco I had ordered, I raised my glass in a toast. to the beautiful woman who has made me the luckiest man in the world. She took a sip, then tilted her head questioningly. Are you sure you're not guilty of anything, Mike? You don't have a mistress somewhere, do you? I got a twitch because I suspected her of that.
Absolutely not, sweetheart. First of all, I take my wedding vows very, very seriously. And second, I could never find anyone I'm more attracted to than you. I took another sip of wine. And I know you'd never do that to me either.
Never, she said, and raised her glass to drink to me in return. Our dinner was excellent, but we skipped dessert so we wouldn't get too full. We finished the second bottle of wine, and both of us giggled lightly as we walked up the stairs handin hand. When we reached the bedroom, she turned to me and inarticulately asked, "So, what's next, my dear husband?" And then we had the best night ever we had had. We both slept in so late that we skipped breakfast and went out for brunch.
I intentionally didn't plan anything special for Sunday because I wanted us to have a normal day. After brunch, we came home and did the usual weekend activities. Sarah went to the grocery store to restock the refrigerator and I mowed the lawn. After lunch, I sat down at the computer to check email and Sarah went to show the house to a potential buyer who called about one of her listings. It all seemed normal and happy the way our life together had been.
As I drove to work Monday morning, I was in a great mood. The care for your wife project was going great. I felt closer to Sarah than I had in months, and I was sure she felt the same way. I even left a special note on our message board. Sweethearts are delicious.
Sweethearts are sweet. Sweethearts make my life complete. Pretty corny, I know, but I really felt it at that moment. Work was going smoothly, and I made sure to leave in time to be able to greet Sarah when I heard the garage door open. I stood in anticipation and smiled as she came toward me.
Slap. She slapped me across the face with all her might, causing me to flinch backward and my ears to ring. What the hell was that for? I screamed. You son of a [ __ ].
She screamed at me. You've been spying on me. You hired a detective agency to spy on me, to photograph my every move. You don't trust me. Oh man, that's not good.
She stood with her fists clenched, her face red with anger. I can't believe you disrespect me so much. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to find out your husband doesn't trust you? She paused to catch her breath. Well, what do you have to say for yourself?
What could I say? She was absolutely right. I didn't trust her. I was following her. How could I make it up to her?
I stood there like an idiot, desperately trying to think of anything that could save the situation. But I trust you, sweetheart. I know you've been loyal and honest. You bet. After you've had me tailed for two weeks, her face contorted even more.
And don't ever call me sweetheart again. All I could do was stare blankly at the floor. My silence made her even angrier. Looks like I was right about this weekend after all. You were only nice to me because you felt guilty about what you'd done.
No, Sarah, that's not true. I began, but she interrupted me. Well, if you didn't feel guilty, you damn well should have. Tears of rage flowed from her eyes as she looked at me. I've never been treated so horribly in my life, and to have it done by my own husband.
She spun in place and headed for the stairs. I can't even look at you right now. With those words, she stomped up the stairs and I heard our bedroom door slam shut. I sank down onto the couch, resting my head on my hands. This was awful. the worst.
What could I say? What could I do to make it up to her? I stood up and started pacing around the room. My thoughts going in circles as well. I don't think flowers or candy will help right now.
I feel like there is no gift I can give her at any cost to get her back. Do Oh, hell. What if she finds out how much money I paid Foster? Then she's going to freak out. My jaw started to hurt, so I went into the kitchen and put ice in a plastic bag on it.
I deserved it. Hell, I deserved much worse. Then I had an even worse thought. What if she wanted a divorce? I really couldn't blame her.
Why had I let my paranoia get the best of me? I heard her walking upstairs and wondered what she was doing. After a while, she came downstairs and picked up her purse, casting me an angry look. I don't want to be in the same house with you. She hissed and headed for the door.
I hurried after her. Are you coming back? I haven't decided yet. With those words, she headed for her car and drove off, tires squealing. I stood there helplessly for a minute, then decided to go upstairs and find out what she was doing there.
At first glance, our bedroom looked normal. But when I caught a glimpse of the guest room, I realized she had pulled all my clothes out of my closet and haphazardly scattered them on the guest bed. Everything I had stored in my dresser drawers was unceremoniously piled on the guest room floor. I sighed and began to pack up my things and set them out in the guest room. It looked like I'd be sleeping here for the foreseeable future.
At least she wasn't kicking me out of the house. I wasn't very hungry, but I forced myself to eat the leftovers while I waited for her to come home. It was later and later, and eventually I gave up and went to bed. A short time later, I woke up to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I pulled myself up in bed to see her walk past.
A moment later, the bedroom door slammed shut and I heard the lock click that I sank back onto the pillow in despair. After a night of sleeplessness, I got up early and used the guest bathroom to shower and shave. When I was done, I quietly tried the door to the master bedroom, but it was not surprisingly still locked. downstairs. I made myself some coffee, but I had no appetite, so I skipped breakfast. Before I left for work, I looked up and noticed our message board.
I grabbed the marker and wrote, "I'm sorry, Sarah. Can we talk?" I had so much more to say, but I left it at that. Luckily for me, there were no major problems at work because I would have been useless trying to solve them. All I could think about was how to explain what I had done without making things worse. Baby, I love you, but I suspected you were cheating on me.
H, maybe that's not quite the right approach. How about now that I've checked you out thoroughly, I trust you again. Yeah, that would make her feel better. After agonizing over it for most of the day, I finally decided to tell her the truth. Babe, I was afraid we were drifting apart, and I let paranoia override common sense. that had the advantage of honesty.
And if I combined that with a sincere apology, maybe it would help. I left work a little early, planning to throw myself on the mercy of the matrimonial court when she got home. But my hopes were dashed when, as I walked through the kitchen, I noticed the message board. My plea had been erased, and in its place, in large letters, was written, "Go to hell." That didn't sound too promising. Nevertheless, I set about making a delicious dinner for the two of us.
Maybe we could talk while we ate. 2 hours later, as I sat alone at the table, the foolishness of this plan became apparent. Admitting defeat, I ate my dinner and put her plate away in the refrigerator. I was just finishing watching the late news when she came home. As she headed for the stairs, I couldn't help myself. I was worried about you, Sarah.
I didn't know where you were. She stared at me with flint-like eyes. Why didn't you call your private investigator and find out what happened? She asked, and there was sarcasm in her voice. Then she went upstairs, and I heard the door to our bedroom slam.
All I could do was groan. That night defined the nature of our relationship. We were in a state of cold war, and there was no negotiation. She came and went as she pleased, and I had no idea of her schedule. We didn't go anywhere or do anything together.
I was sure she was going to divorce me, and I was wary of every approach from a stranger. But to my relief, the papers never came. As time went on, I noticed, if not a warming, at least a gradual change in our relationship. Her anger at me was gradually replaced by indifference. She started talking to me again, but only about pressing matters.
Tomorrow is garbage day or is there mail for me? But she adamantly refused to talk about our situation and the bedroom door remained closed. Lying in bed at night, my thoughts went from one emotion to another, like those annoying rotating ads you see on the internet. I started by feeling resentful and defensive about her treatment. How long is she going to keep this up?
It's not like I've done anything wrong to her. It's unfair of her to shut me out like that. But just as quickly, I'd move on to remorse. This is all your fault, Michael. Think how angry you'd be if she did the same thing to you.
How long would it take you to get over it? Then I'd go back to remorse. Most of all, I felt deep pain. I missed my wife. I missed the physical and emotional closeness we shared.
My goal had been to bring us closer together, and all I had accomplished was to distance us from each other. I couldn't stop thinking about the wonderful weekend we'd spent together just before everything went to hell, and I mourned my loss. People around me were beginning to notice my depression. But their questions and concerns only made it worse. The last thing I wanted to do was discuss what I had done.
I didn't doubt the reaction I would get, especially from my female friends. They would be outraged at what I had done. Worse, the fact that I used a detective to spy on Sarah. If it became public, would likely cause rumors. It could be used against her on the campaign trail if I messed up Sarah's political future.
We would definitely be finished. I felt trapped in a hopeless situation. I felt really bad, but there was no one to talk to about it. Now I know what purgatory is like. One Sunday, I went for a walk in Freedom Park, hoping that the fresh air would help clear my thoughts.
After walking along a path for an hour, I came to a small clearing by the lake and sat down on a bench to rest. The serenity of the landscape contrasted with my inner turmoil. I can't live like this anymore. I love Sarah, but we are no longer married. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to her to go on like this.
We both played our part, but I have to take most of the blame. Our marriage is dead and I'm the one who ruined it. Strangely, as soon as I came to that conclusion, a sense of relief came over me. I took a deep breath and looked around at the sky, the trees, and the clearing. So wonderful here.
I wish Sarah could look at it with me. Then I realized what I just thought and the bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth. After getting wrapped up with work the following Monday, I made inquiries and found a family law firm that advertised a non-confrontational approach to dissolving marriages in a respectful environment. I loved it. If our marriage was beyond repair, I wanted to end it as painlessly as possible.
I called and made an appointment for later in the week. I just had time to hang up before the phone rang again. Is this Michael Thompson? A hesitant voice asked, sounding vaguely familiar. Yes.
Who's calling, please? This is Jessica Rodriguez. I don't know if you remember me, but we met at the Daily Grind several weeks ago. And of course, I remember you, Jessica. What can I do for you?
I need to talk to you about something very important. Hm. Okay, I guess I can do that. What do you need to talk to me about? No, this needs to be discussed in person face to face.
Something in her tone didn't sound right, but still I didn't really understand. If you could explain, please. Michael, I urgently need to see you right now if at all possible. I can come to your office if that would help. I started to refuse, but something in her tone and the whole situation intrigued me.
It was better to be careful though and choose a public place. No, my office is no good. How about this? I can be at the daily grind in 15 minutes. Is that okay with you?
Yeah, it's perfect. I'll see you there. Thanks. What the hell had I gotten myself into? But she'd actually seemed like a nice person earlier and the urgency in her voice hit me.
I put my work aside and started walking toward the cafe. When I walked in, she was already waiting for me at a table at the back of the room. She stood up and shook my hand as I approached her, then offered me a cup of my favorite coffee. I took a sip, trying to figure out how best to start. I decided to temporarily limit myself to small talk.
So, how's the new job at Foster Investigations going? A sour expression appeared on her face. Not really well. I got fired yesterday. Fired?
What happened? I'll tell you about that later. Let me ask you first. How are things with your wife? I was shocked.
How did she know about Sarah and me? Then I mentally slapped myself. Of course, she knew. She saw me enter the agency. Hell, she must have been part of the team that had Sarah under surveillance.
At that moment, all my troubles came flooding back at me. And I felt the depression returning to me. I leaned back in my chair and shook my head. This isn't going well. Not well at all.
Somehow Sarah found out I was following her and blew up. And then, to my surprise, all my pain and sadness came pouring out. and I told this almost stranger the story I had kept to myself for so long. She watched me expressionlessly as I recounted my grief. When I finally finished, she tilted her head to one side and asked, "When you met with Mr. Foster, did he show you the surveillance photos?" "Yes, of course." "Why?
What did the pictures show?" I was confused. They were just pictures of Sarah going about her normal business, meeting home buyers, going to council meetings, working in her office. Everything was perfectly normal, perfectly innocent. Why? She leaned toward me with a strained expression on her face.
"Michael, yesterday morning at the agency, I needed to make copies of some documents. When I went to the copy machine, I found your file folder there." She blushed slightly. I shouldn't have touched it, but I remembered how kind you were to me, and I got curious, so I looked inside. I saw the pictures you just described, Michael. But there were other pictures that Foster must not have given you.
She paused and took a deep breath. Michael, I saw some pictures of your wife with another man. They were intimate pictures. What? That's impossible, Foster assured me.
That's not all, Michael. The photos had different dates and times on them. This wasn't a one-off mistake. Your wife is having an affair with this man. Couldn't believe it.
You must have made a mistake. Couldn't have been Sarah. Why would Foster lie to me? I don't know, Michael, but when he caught me with your file, he went ballistic and fired me on the spot. Why did he react that way if he had nothing to hide?
Do you have copies of the photos? I need to see them for myself. No, I'm sorry. I didn't have time to make copies. I looked at her carefully.
Are you sure you're not making all this up to get back at Foster for firing you? I immediately saw the resentment in her eyes. Of course, I'm mad at Foster, but I would never use you to get revenge. You were so kind to me, sticking up for me even though you didn't know me. I could never repay your kindness in such an evil way.
There were tears in her eyes. Maybe she's a great actress, but I immediately dismissed the thought. She's not lying to me. However, I still had a hard time understanding the meaning behind her words. Okay, so who is that other man in the picture?
She shook her head. I don't know. I didn't recognize him. I started to say something else, but she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Michael, there's a lot I don't understand, but I think I know a possible reason why Foster lied to you.
Your wife is a person of some influence in this town. I believe Foster is blackmailing your wife. That stopped me. There were plenty of other people in town who would be happy to use the scandal to ou Sarah in the next election. As ambitious as she was, she would do almost anything to avoid such an embarrassing exposure.
Without thinking, I rubbed my jaw where Sarah had slapped me. Had she been lying to me all this time? Had she treated me like dirt and then laughed about it with her lover? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I stood up, walked outside, and started down the sidewalk.
Jessica rushed after me and grabbed my arm. Michael, where are you going? I'm going to head over to Fosters right now and find out what's really going on. Wait a minute, Michael. Stop and think about it.
If I'm right, Foster will only lie to you because it's the only way he can maintain his influence over your wife. Besides, he's probably already removed those photos from your file and hidden them away. You won't get anything out of him. She saw my hesitation and hurried to continue. And the same thing will happen if you confront Sarah.
Do you really think she'll admit to anything? She pulled me toward a bench on the sidewalk. If you tell them what I told you, they'll both say I'm just a disgruntled employee. It'll be my word against their word." She looked at me seriously in the eye. "Michael, I swear to you that I'm telling the truth.
I hope you believe it." I watched her face and tested my instincts. She's not lying. She's trying to repay whoever helped her. I believe you, Jessica. I saw relief mixed with gratitude on her face.
But then she turned serious. There's something else, Michael. There's a reason I wanted to see you right now. I learned something else important yesterday. She paused.
I saw Foster's calendar. He has a meeting with your wife in half an hour. If you're willing to watch for a while, maybe we can find out what he's up to. Yes, of course. Do you know where they meet?
I wrote it down. She handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. 2247 Queens Road West. Why there? I growled more to myself than to her. It's a residential neighborhood.
I shrugged. I'll deal with that later. Come on, I said. My car is parked nearby. Soon, we were on our way to the address Jessica had given me.
I didn't say anything, but I was seething inside. I'd felt so guilty for not trusting my wife, and now it turned out I'd had good reason to doubt her all along. What a fool. Who was her secret lover? How long did her affair last?
And how was Foster involved? Take your time, I told myself. Wait until you knew for sure that Sarah was cheating on you. Jumping to conclusions is what got you in trouble before. Yeah, but that was because Foster lied to me.
It was hard to keep my cool. "There he is!" shouted Jessica as I blindly drove past the address. I drove another block, turned around, and came back to park on the street two houses down. "Damn, this is a really nice neighborhood. Whose house is this?" I asked, addressing mostly myself.
Then, as we pulled up to the house, I saw something I had missed earlier. a for sale sign for my wife's real estate company. Suddenly, it all made sense. That's why they're meeting here, I told Jessica in a quiet but insistent tone. This house is vacant. The owners have moved out and she's been trying to sell it for months.
We stayed behind the large hedge surrounding the property and headed for the driveway. There were two cars parked there, but I didn't recognize either of them. You stay here. I'll look around and see if I can spot them. I whispered.
I'm coming too, she replied furiously and I shrugged. Together, we walked slowly toward the house, keeping in the shade of the hedge. We heard noises coming from the back of the house. And as we crept toward it, we noticed French doors opening into a room that must have been a den. We peaked inside and my adrenaline started to build up.
Sarah, dressed in lingerie I'd never seen before, was sprawled out on the couch, talking to someone we couldn't see from around the corner. I gritted my teeth. She's getting herself worked up. Suddenly, a figure came into view, and all I could do was keep quiet. Bradley Foster walked into the room with nothing but a smile on his face.
Afterward, I saw them having fun. I grabbed Jessica by the arm and indicated for her to walk back outside. I had never been so angry in my life. If he's blackmailing her, I hissed once we were out of earshot. She sure as hell doesn't look like she's going to resent it much.
Should we take pictures? She asked. I thought for a moment, then smiled. Oh, yeah. We'll take lots of pictures and maybe get others involved.
I hurried over to Sarah's for sale sign, pulled it out of the ground, and tossed it behind a hedge where it wasn't as easy to spot. Then I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. I want to report a residential break-in. I was walking around the neighborhood and saw people acting suspiciously around the house at 2247 Queens Road West. It looks like they might have forced entry.
They could still be inside burglarizing the place. If you hurry, you can catch them. I hung up without giving my name and Jessica stared at me in confusion, but I ignored her and called my friend at Channel 9. Hey, Amanda, are you still covering that series of home burglaries? I've got a hot tip for you.
There's been a break-in at 2247 Queens Road West. Police have been notified and are responding. If you get here fast enough, you can beat the competition and get some great footage. That's right. 2247 Queens Road West. No problem.
I owe you one. What have you done? My companion asked, but I waved her question away. Let's go back and get those pictures. When we got back to the French doors, we saw another man.
Jessica tugged my arm sharply. That was the man in the pictures, she whispered. Do you know who he is? I nodded angrily. Oh, yes, I know him.
Sarah introduced me to him at one of her political receptions. It's none other than Robert Mitchell, head of the zoning commission in our fair city. Suddenly, Jessica pulled me away from the door and pointed to the end of the driveway where a patrol car had just stopped. We rushed toward them together. We just saw them officers.
I gasped. They're still inside. If you hurry, you can catch them. The senior patrolman looked at his partner. There are two cars parked in the driveway and I don't see any signs of forced entry.
He then looked at me suspiciously. Are you sure a crime is being committed? At that moment, a Channel 9 news stopped squealing outside and a reporter and cameraman jumped out to us. What's the story? The reporter called to us.
Are we going to be able to get any action? The first policeman started to speak when we heard a loud female scream that seemed to shake the house. "Oh my god!" I shouted. "He's attacking her." The two policemen looked at each other in panic. Then Sarah shouted again, even louder this time.
"Come on!" shouted the first policeman. He grabbed his gun and rushed toward the front door. The younger policeman followed on his heels and the two of them burst through the front door and disappeared inside. "Start filming!" the reporter shouted to his partner. He then turned his back to the house and began speaking quickly into the camera.
Behind me is a house at 2247 Queens Road West where police are investigating a suspected breaking and entering. We just heard wild screams coming from inside the house and police went there to investigate. Before he could finish, there were sounds of a terrible commotion from inside the house. I thought it sounded like an old-fashioned movie fight, only in reality. People were screaming, and there was the sound of breaking furniture and glasswware.
The cameraman focused on the house just in time to see Commissioner Mitchell walk out of the front door completely naked. Immediately behind him came my wife, dressed exactly the same way. "Wait for me!" she shouted as Robert swung open the door of one of the cars and started the engine. Once she was inside, he put the car into reverse. Then he hit the brakes just in time to avoid hitting a patrol car parked at the end of the driveway.
In desperation, Mitchell shifted into drive and roared into the yard. Then he spun the steering wheel, cutting huge furrows in the lawn, and tried to get through the hedge. He almost succeeded, but the thick branches stalled the car and lifted the rear axle so high that the tires could only spin uselessly in the air. The reporter immediately recognized the two politicians. He signaled his cameraman and then rushed toward the stalled car.
Commissioner Mitchell, Councilwoman Bennett, could you please explain to our viewers what you were doing in the house together and where are your clothes? The commissioner refused to talk to him. And when the reporter insisted, Robert rolled down the window. As the camera continued rolling, the two people inside struggled to cover their nakedness with their arms and hands while shouting angrily at each other. Then the cameraman raised his head and focused again on the house.
Bradley Foster's hunched naked figure appeared on the screen, his hands cuffed together, blood dripping from several cuts. The two policemen who were leading him to the exit didn't look at their best either. Who's that? The reporter asked confusedly. This is Bradley Foster, president of Foster Investigations, Jessica said.
He's a private investigator. The reporter wrote down the name but was still confused. And who are you? We need to go home, honey," I said firmly, took her hand, and led her to my car. As we pulled away, we saw the police trying to drive away the neighbors who had come out to watch.
Over the next few days, the news became a city sensation. Channel 9 used the footage for a promo for its evening news, and the footage of the commissioner, councilwoman, and detective covering their intimate parts was shown over and over again. The story was so racy that the national affiliate of Channel 9 picked it up and it made it onto the national evening news. Soon there were few places in the country where people didn't see the glorious figure of my wife running across the grass. Foster, of course, was immediately jailed for aggravated assault on a police officer.
As he was being transferred to his cell, he made some crude remarks about the two officers and what he intended to do to them as soon as he was released. The judge hearing the case was not amused by Foster's remarks and refused to release him on bail. It was harder for the police to determine what crimes, if any, the commissioner and councilwoman had committed. Breaking and entering was quickly ruled out, and when it was discovered that Sarah was the listing agent for 2247 Queens Road West, even the trespassing charges were dropped. However, because of the intense publicity, they had to go into hiding.
The morning paper was upset to learn of the scandal and the editor instructed all city staffers to find out what was really going on. Commissioner and councilwoman, politics make strange bedfellows, screamed the headline the next day. I assumed it was all about sex, but I was wrong. An enterprising newspaper reporter did some digging and uncovered evidence of bribery in connection with a number of local real estate projects. It turned out that a council woman was soliciting bribes from developers and the commissioner was seeking favorable zoning permits in exchange for the council woman's sexual favors.
Apparently, they didn't hide deep enough because once the story came out, they were quickly arrested and charged with official misconduct. The first thing I did when I got back to my office off Queens Road West was to call the law firm I had contacted and cancel the appointment. Oh, the pleasant woman I spoke to asked hopefully. Does that mean you and your wife have reconciled, "That means I don't want to part amicably anymore," I said coldly. "I'll hire a real shark and take her for everything she's got.
Getting me involved was inevitable, at least at first. The police interviewed me several times, trying to find out if I had participated in or benefited from my wife's little scheme. Fortunately, Sarah kept all her funds in a separate account in her name only. And when I told the lieutenant how I'd hired Foster to investigate my wife, he only shook his head sympathetically. My friends and colleagues sympathized with me, too.
But none of them could think of anything to say to me. We all loved Sarah and are sorry she turned out to be a corrupt politician and a cheating wife. Somehow wasn't quite right. Neither was sorry you turned out to be a cuckold. Most of them ended up avoiding me and I couldn't blame them for that.
I hired a real shark of a lawyer to handle the divorce case. Although it turned out to be unnecessary. Given Sarah's public infidelities and the likelihood of jail time, divorce was not an issue. My lawyer made sure that Sarah got the worst part of the financial settlement. I thought I was done with her, but to my surprise, I had another meeting with my soon-to-be ex-wife.
Sarah's lawyer called me. She wanted me to be a witness in Sarah's defense. I laughed out loud at the thought, but stopped laughing when the lawyer said she was going to subpoena me if I didn't cooperate. The thought of being dragged back into a showdown with Sarah was hardly appealing, and I considered backing out anyway. But then her lawyer mentioned that he wanted to interview me before the trial, and Sarah would be present.
After a brief thought, I decided to agree if Sarah would answer a few questions for me. I was glad when she agreed. Maybe now I would finally get some answers. When I entered the conference room of the attorney's office, Sarah was there with her lawyer. She was wearing one of her power suits that she liked to wear to council meetings when she knew the TV cameras would be there.
I had to admit she still looked good. But when I looked at her face, I realized that the stress was taking its toll. Mr. Thompson, Sarah's attorney began, "I understand that your marriage will soon be dissolved under unfortunate circumstances. We are not here to discuss it.
We are trying to prove that before Mrs. Bennett went astray under the influence of foreign temptations, she was a loving wife and a devoted life companion of good character. We would like to call you to the stand to testify about your life together prior to the unfortunate events of recent months. Driven astray by other people's temptations, I thought sarcastically. Well, that's one way of looking at it.
But I restrained myself and looked calmly at the lawyer. When I married my wife, I began. She seemed to me the most attractive, the most interesting woman I'd ever met. She was smart, funny, and had a way of putting people at ease that made them want to be around her. The lawyer gave Sarah a quick nod, then turned to me with an encouraging smile.
She wrote down every word I said. For the first 6 years of our marriage, Sarah and I had the same goals and dreams, and I felt we were on the path to achieving them. The lawyer interrupted me. You mean the first 8 years, don't you, Mr. Thompson?
I believe you've been married for 8 years. I ignored her and continued. But ever since she was elected to the city council, my wife has changed. She has become an ambitious, manipulative person concerned only with herself and her own goals. She increasingly neglected me in our marriage in pursuit of her own advancement.
It was the growing indifference and contempt she showed me that eventually drove me to hire a private investigator. No. No, Mr. Thompson, that's not what we want. You need to Never mind, Virginia, Sarah interrupted.
I told you there was little chance he was never going to help me. Then she looked at me bitterly. So why did you come here today, Mike? What do you want? I folded my arms and leaned across the table toward her.
I want to be alone with you for 30 minutes so I can ask you some questions. Will you help me if I do this? Not a chance in hell. She stared at me for a few seconds, then sighed and leaned back in her chair. Okay, I guess I owe you one.
You have 30 minutes. Are you sure? asked Sarah's attorney. It's okay. He won't hurt me. Shaking her head, the lawyer left the room, closing the conference room door behind her.
Sarah turned to me again. Okay, Mike, what do you want to ask me? I had so many questions, but I decided to start with the most basic. Why, Sarah? Why did you do it?
Suddenly, she straightened up sharply and her eyes flashed fire. This is all your fault. You know, I wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't hired that detective to watch me. I was stunned. My fault?
How can this be my fault? You're the one who? But she was so angry. She didn't even hear me. Everything was going so smoothly until that bastard showed up at my office with those pictures of Robert and me and you were the one who set him on me.
I was so mad at you when I found out about it. She paused. I wouldn't have had to do this if you weren't having an affair with Mitchell. She grinned. It wasn't an affair, just politics.
Robert was a terrible lover and he was smaller than you. I only seduced him because he could get me the zoning changes I needed. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Why do you need zoning permits? You're not a real estate developer.
She shook her head like I was the slowest kid in her class. I didn't need permits, but the big developers needed them, and I needed their support to run for mayor. Like I said, it's all about politics, so it was just about political endorsements, right? Then why did the cops find over a million dollars in your secret bank account? She smiled embarrassedly.
Okay, maybe it was about the money, too. Then her expression turned angry again. But none of this would have been a problem if you hadn't gotten so damn nosy. I'm not going to let her lure me into that trap. What about Foster?
What did he want? Half of what I was getting and half of what Robert was getting? Wait a minute. You said Robert is only involved in this case because you seduced him. Her face took on a dreamy expression.
As I said, Foster wanted half of what Robert was getting. And after he got it the first time, I discovered that he was vastly superior to Robert. Vastly superior. So, he didn't have to force you to do it. She smiled slightly.
Only the first time. After that, I was only too happy to oblige. She noticed my expression and chuckled. Everyone has their sexual preferences. I was just lucky enough to discover mine.
I guess you weren't that upset about me hiring Foster, I said. Riley. She gave me a lazy smile. No, actually, I think I owe you for that. Then her smile disappeared.
And it would have been fine if it hadn't been for those nosy neighbors on Queens Road West. If they hadn't called the police, I wouldn't be in this mess. For the first time that day, I felt better. I stood up and smiled at my loving wife. Actually, it wasn't the neighbors.
I'm the one who called the police and I'm the one who called Channel 9. You did all this to yourself. You did what? You son of a She stood up so fast she knocked over the chair she was sitting in. She grabbed a law book off the shelf behind her and threw it across the table at me.
She was about to jump over the table to try and get me when her lawyer burst in and grabbed her arm. "Calm down, Sarah. Calm down. You can't do this." "I'm sorry, counselor, but I can't be a witness to your client's character," I said as I walked out the door. Then I turned around.
"Enjoy your time in jail, sweetheart." Foster eventually pleaded guilty to the lesser charge of assaulting a police officer in exchange for testifying about the bribery scheme. In addition to jail time, he of course lost his private investigator license. Mitchell got off with a lighter sentence because he didn't actually take any money, but he lost his job, his wife, and his dignity, and was never seen in Charlotte again. I figured he got what he deserved. I deliberately avoided all news of Sarah's trial, partly because I didn't care what happened to her, and partly because I wanted to be able to claim ignorance if anyone asked me.
But when I was at the Daily Grind a while later, I happened to see a newspaper announcing the sentencing. Couldn't resist and read it. As I learned, Sarah received 3 to 5 years in state prison, as well as a $25,000 fine for soliciting illegal gratuitities. I was also happy to learn that she now faces federal charges for income tax evasion on her personal cash fund. Apparently, the fact that the state seized her illegally gained property was not a mitigating factor for the feds.
I rubbed my cheekbone. Exactly what she deserved. Maybe now I could move on with my life. My thoughts were interrupted by a voice I hadn't heard in a long time. Hey, stranger.
Can you buy a girl a cup of coffee? I smiled at her. I'd be very pleased to, Jessica. She sat down across from me, and we talked for a while about what had happened since that dramatic day on Queens Road West. She'd found a new job with a reputable security firm downtown and seemed to be doing well.
"I never properly thanked you," she said, stirring her latte. "Not just for standing up to that bully that first day, but for believing me when I told you the truth about the photos. You didn't have to do that, I replied. You could have just kept quiet about what you'd seen. No, I couldn't.
You were kind to a stranger when you didn't have to be. That meant something to me. She paused. Besides, what Foster was doing wasn't just wrong. It was destroying people's lives.
My marriage was already pretty damaged. I admitted I played my part in that, maybe, but at least now you know the truth. That has to count for something. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the bustling coffee shop around us. The same barista who defended us that first day waved from behind the counter.
So, what's next for you? Jessica asked. I thought about it. For the first time in months, I actually felt optimistic about the future. I don't know yet, but for the first time in a long while, I'm looking forward to finding out.
That sounds like a good place to start, she said, raising her cup. To new beginnings. To new beginnings. I agreed, clinking my cup against hers. Outside the window, Charlotte was going about its business.
Cars moving down the street. People hurrying to appointments. Life continuing its endless rhythm. Somewhere in the city, the corruption that had destroyed my marriage was being cleaned up. The system had worked more or less.
Justice had been served. And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to trust again. As we finished our coffee and prepared to leave, I realized that sometimes the end of one story is just the beginning of another. The betrayal in Charlotte had taught me painful lessons about trust, deception, and the complexity of human nature. But it had also shown me that there were still good people in the world.
People like Jessica, who risked their jobs to tell the truth, and like Amanda, who helped a friend in need without asking too many questions. I got in my car and drove home to my empty house in Dworth. It was quiet there, but it was a peaceful quiet now, not the oppressive silence of a marriage gone wrong. Tomorrow, I would start figuring out what came next. Tonight, for the first time in months, I thought I might actually get some sleep.
And for the first time since this whole mess began, that felt like enough.