I put laxatives in my husband’s coffee before he left to see his mistress, and I watched him swallow it as if he weren’t drinking his own shame.
But two hours later, I returned home and found something that left me colder than his betrayal.
The morning started with expensive cologne.
Not mine.
The one she had asked him for via text the night before.
Brad stood in front of our bedroom mirror, adjusting the blue shirt I had bought him for our tenth anniversary.
“You’re dressed up.”
He glanced at me through the mirror.
“Client meeting.”
“On Saturday?”
“Quarterly emergency.”
He didn’t even hesitate anymore.
That was almost impressive.
His phone buzzed on the dresser.
Brad grabbed it too late.
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