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.

My poor son worked ten-hour days.

Meanwhile, his wife rode around Minneapolis with another man.

I decided I would catch her.

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

Today.

I opened the apartment door.

The living room was quiet.

The kitchen counters were spotless.

No wine glasses.

No men’s jacket.

No strange shoes.

Nothing.

Instead of calming me, it made me more suspicious.

“She cleaned everything.”

That was what I told myself.

I walked deeper into the apartment.

Then I heard laughter.

From the bedroom.

I stopped.

A woman laughed softly.

Young.

Flirtatious.

Then a man answered.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I leaned closer to the hallway wall.