She frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. He sounded mad.”
“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”
She looked relieved. “Can I have strawberries now?”
“Yes, baby.”
She grabbed one and ran off.
I told myself she must have misunderstood. “The plan” could mean anything—a surprise, work, something harmless.
But the words stuck.
It was probably nothing. But if it wasn’t, I needed to know.
For the next few days, I said nothing. I acted normal, waiting for the right moment to uncover the truth.
When it came, I didn’t hesitate.
One morning, Jack got up earlier than usual and said he had to go into the office.
“Big meeting,” he said.
His job was mostly remote. He rarely went in. Maybe it was my suspicion, but the moment he said it, I knew he was lying.
I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I think I have a migraine. I might call in sick.”
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Go lie down. Feel better.”
I waited thirty seconds after he drove away.
Then I followed him.
He didn’t go to an office. Instead, he parked at a café on the edge of town. I watched through the window as he sat with a woman.
I leaned forward, trying to see her face.
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Then she leaned in.
“Oh, my God!” I whispered.
I recognized her. I had seen her once in old photos on his phone.
Laura. His ex-wife.
“It ended badly,” he had told me back then, his face tight with emotion.
And I had let it go, assuming the pain was still fresh.
Now, watching them meet in secret, I felt foolish. At first, it seemed obvious—he was cheating.
But the longer I watched, the less that explanation fit.
They weren’t smiling. They weren’t touching.
