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 had entered my son’s apartment to expose his wife.

Instead, I had found my own husband in Samuel’s bed.

I looked at the young woman.

Then Walter.

Then the champagne.

My throat felt closed.

The young woman grabbed the sheet higher.

Her eyes moved between us.

Then she looked at Walter.

“Is she…”

She hesitated.

“Is she your wife?”

Walter closed his eyes.

That was his answer.

The young woman’s mouth fell open.

“You told me you were divorced.”

I finally spoke.

My voice sounded almost calm.

“Did he?”

She nodded.

“I thought…”

Walter interrupted.

“Camille, stop.”

So her name was Camille.

She looked at him.

“You said your wife lived in Florida.”

I laughed.

A short, ugly sound.

Walter turned toward me.

“Margaret, please.”

I stared.

“Florida?”

He stood.

I took one step back.

Not because I was afraid.

Because suddenly I could not stand the idea of him touching me.

“Don’t.”

He stopped.

Camille grabbed her clothes from the floor.

“I’m leaving.”

Walter said,

“Wait.”

She spun.

“No.”

Her voice shook.

“You lied to me.”

Then she looked at me.

“I swear I didn’t know.”

I believed her.

Maybe because she looked horrified.