I thanked her and hung up.

None of it made sense.

I should have driven home.

I should have waited for Henry to return and confronted him somewhere safe and familiar.

I even started the car.

Then the curtains inside the blue house moved.

Someone was standing in there with my husband’s face.

I switched off the engine again.

For nearly an hour, I remained in the car, staring at the front door while my thoughts circled endlessly.

Eventually, the man came outside alone.

He was barefoot and tossing a set of keys in one hand as he walked toward the garbage bin near the road.

Something inside me broke.

“Stay here, Zoe,” I said. “Mommy will be back in one minute. Do not remove your seat belt.”

I cracked the windows slightly, checked her harness, and locked the doors.

I could see the car from the front yard.

I looked once at Zoe’s worried face through the glass, then turned toward the man.

I crossed the lawn quickly.

When he noticed me, he smiled politely, the way someone smiles at a neighbor they do not recognize.

I slapped him across the face.

“How could you lie to me?” I shouted. “How could you do this to our daughter?”

He stumbled backward, holding his cheek and staring at me in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Ma’am, who are you?”

“Stop pretending. I packed that jacket. I stitched your name into the collar.”

The front door flew open.

The woman ran outside.

“Get away from him!” she yelled. “You just attacked my husband. I’m calling the police.”

“Your husband?” I laughed bitterly. “He is my husband. We have a daughter. She’s sitting in that car.”

The man continued shaking his head.

“I’ve never seen you before in my life. I swear.”

Part 3:

I stepped backward toward the vehicle.

Zoe was staring at me through the window with wide eyes.

At that moment, I became certain Henry would return home, look directly at me, and deny everything I had witnessed.

For the next two nights, I cried until my pillow was wet.

I asked myself the same questions repeatedly.

How long had Henry been deceiving me?

How could he have maintained another home so close to ours?

The most disturbing part was that Henry never stopped texting me from Seattle.

“Just bought another cup of terrible hotel coffee. Miss you already.”

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