He smirked and said, “You’ll never touch my money again.” Two minutes later, the courtroom was laughing — except him.
«How was the Henderson project meeting?» I asked one evening, as he loosened his tie.
«Fine,» he said, not looking at me. «Just the usual client demands.»
But I had seen his calendar that morning when he left it on the kitchen counter. There was no Henderson meeting scheduled. There was a notation that said, «V.H. 7 p.m.,» with a restaurant name I didn’t recognize.
I started paying attention to things I had ignored before. Credit card statements that Benjamin quickly put away. Phone calls that stopped when I entered the room. New cologne that smelled different from what he usually wore. Shirts that came back from the dry cleaner with lipstick stains that weren’t my shade.
One evening, I was putting away his laundry when I found a receipt in his pants pocket. It was from an expensive restaurant downtown, dated the previous Tuesday. The bill was for two people, with champagne and dessert. But Tuesday night, Benjamin had told me he was working late on paperwork at the office.
My hands shook as I held the receipt. The total was more than my monthly allowance. Someone had ordered the lobster and the chocolate souffle, dishes that Benjamin always said were too expensive when we looked at menus together.
I sat on our bed, staring at that piece of paper, and felt something crack inside my chest. This wasn’t about money or work stress or family pressure. This was about lies. This was about Benjamin living a completely different life when he wasn’t with me.
That night, when Benjamin came home smelling like perfume that wasn’t mine, I didn’t say anything. I smiled and asked about his day, and he told me about meetings that I now knew hadn’t happened. I nodded and served him dinner and pretended everything was normal. But inside, I was already starting to plan.
The next morning, I waited until Benjamin left for work before I got dressed. Instead of my usual routine of cleaning and organizing, I put on dark jeans and a baseball cap. I felt like a spy in a movie, except this was my real life falling apart.
I drove to Benjamin’s office building downtown and parked across the street where I could see the entrance. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. What was I doing? Following my own husband like some crazy person? But I had to know the truth.
At 11:30, Benjamin walked out of the building. He wasn’t alone. A woman with long blonde hair and a red coat walked beside him. She was beautiful in a way that made my stomach hurt. Tall, elegant, with perfect posture and expensive clothes. Everything I wasn’t.
They got into Benjamin’s car together, laughing about something. The woman put her hand on his arm as they talked, and Benjamin smiled at her the way he used to smile at me. I followed them through the city streets, staying far enough back that they wouldn’t notice me.
They went to Romano’s, the fancy Italian restaurant where Benjamin had taken me for our anniversary two years ago. The same restaurant where he told me we couldn’t afford to eat anymore because we needed to save money.
I watched through the window as they sat at a corner table, holding hands across the white tablecloth. The woman had to be Veronica Hayes, the interior designer Dorothy had mentioned. She was even more beautiful up close, with perfect makeup and jewelry that probably cost more than my car. She touched Benjamin’s face gently, and he caught her hand and kissed her palm.
My chest felt like someone was squeezing it with both hands. I sat in my car for two hours, watching them eat and laugh and act like a couple in love. When they finally left, Benjamin walked her to a silver BMW parked nearby. He kissed her goodbye, not a quick peck but a real kiss that lasted long enough to make me look away.
That evening, Benjamin came home at his usual time with a story about a difficult client meeting. He complained about how boring his day had been, how he wished he could have spent it with me instead. I nodded and smiled and served him the dinner I had somehow managed to cook while my world was crashing down.
«How was your day, sweetheart?» he asked, cutting his chicken like nothing had happened.
«Quiet,» I said. «I reorganized the closets and did some reading.»
«That’s my good girl,» he said, reaching over to pat my hand. «Always keeping busy.»
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