I went to my son’s apartment with a duplicate key, convinced I was going to catch my daughter-in-law with another man. “Today this lie ends,” I thought before opening the bedroom door. But the woman inside wasn’t her: beside a bottle of champagne, I found my own husband after 32 years of marriage… and what I heard next was even worse.

I backed away.

“Touch me and I scream loud enough for every neighbor.”

He stopped.

I opened messages.

Camille.

Dozens.

Then emails.

I searched Samuel.

Too many results.

Contracts.

PDFs.

Scans.

One message caught my attention.

It was from someone named Greg Harmon.

Need Sam’s new employment letter.

Walter had answered.

I’ll get it.

Another.

We need proof of residence.

Walter replied.

Apartment lease should work.

My stomach dropped.

He had used Samuel’s apartment address.

His job.

His name.

Maybe his income.

I kept scrolling.

Then I saw Chloe’s name.

My finger froze.

Email subject.

Chloe documentation.

I opened it.

Inside was a scanned copy of Chloe’s driver’s license.

Then another file.

Tax return.

Joint return.

Samuel and Chloe.

I stared at Walter.

“How did you get this?”

He looked pale.

“Margaret.”

“How did you get Chloe’s tax return?”

He said nothing.

Then I understood.

His key.

The apartment.

He had not only used this place for the affair.

He had searched it.

I looked around the bedroom.

The drawers.

The desk.

The filing cabinet near the window.