The four of them are always together, working out, laughing, spending time as a group. A chill ran through me as I absorbed her words. "I've seen her kissing this guy," Melissa said quietly. My heart sank as if it had dropped straight through my chest. The words barely registered, but they hit harder than anything I'd ever felt.
"What? What did you see exactly?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would make it too real. Melissa took a shaky breath before continuing. I saw them a couple of times in the parking lot. she'd be with him and they'd kiss. It wasn't just a friendly kiss, Chris.
It was something more. My pulse quickened as her words settled in. It all clicked. Every piece of evidence I had been brushing off suddenly made sense. The bruises I'd seen on her body, the long hours she was away, the countless girls nights with Lily, the signs had been there all along, and now I couldn't ignore it any longer.
Emma was cheating. The next day, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I left work early, parked near the gym, and waited. A part of me hoped I wouldn't see anything, that Melissa had somehow been mistaken. But then I spotted them.
Emma and Mike, her trainer, walked out together laughing. My breath caught as I got a clear look at him. He was tall, athletic, and good-looking, but he was black. I remembered Emma telling me once that she wasn't interested in black men. When she was in college, a few black men had asked her out, but she had rejected them, saying they weren't her type.
I guess that had changed now. As they walked toward the parking lot, she touched his arm, looking up at him with an expression I hadn't seen in years. Warm, familiar, maybe even adoring. They leaned in close, and I felt my stomach twist. Just as they were about to kiss, someone from the gym called out, "Hey, Mike." And they pulled away, sharing a private smile.
I clenched my fists, feeling the anger rise in me. But I couldn't confront her. Not yet. Not without proof. That night when we got home, I acted like everything was normal.
But sleep was impossible. My mind racing with plans and doubts, trying to figure out a way to catch them in the act. By the next morning, I had a plan. I told Emma over breakfast, keeping my voice steady. I have to go out of town for a work trip.
I'll be gone for a few days. I wasn't actually going for a business trip. I just needed an excuse to leave the house. I hoped that if I wasn't home long enough, maybe she'd feel safe enough to bring him here and then I'd catch them. "Oh, okay," she said, giving me a faint smile.
"I'll miss you." But her smile didn't reach her eyes. Something was off, and I felt sick to my stomach. I could see it now. The distance in her gaze, the indifference in her tone. Before I left, I installed small cameras around the house, hidden in the corners where she wouldn't notice.
I wasn't proud of it, but I had to know. I had to see if what I feared was actually happening. Then, I booked a room at a nearby hotel where I could watch the live footage from my laptop. That night, as I sat in that dim hotel room, staring at my screen, I waited. Hours passed.
Finally, just past midnight, the front door opened. There he was. Mike, the man I'd only seen from a distance, entering my home with his hand around Emma's waist. She led him upstairs, laughing, carefree, like they were sneaking into some forbidden paradise. My jaw clenched as I watched her undress, taking her time, teasing him.