“What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
The call lasted one minute and forty-seven seconds.
The husband stood with the phone still against his ear after it ended.
Bigger than an affair.
He hated that sentence.
He returned the laptop exactly as he had found it.
Screen angle.
Coffee mug.
Chair.
Then he photographed the kitchen once for his own memory.
He left.
He drove two blocks.
Parked on a quiet side street where he could see the entrance to his road without being visible from the house.
At 8:48, his wife arrived.
She drove herself.
At 9:06, upstairs lights came on.
At 9:18, the husband saw her through a brief gap in the curtains moving toward the bathroom.
He felt sick.
At 9:29, another car entered the street.
Not the boss’s luxury sedan.
A dark crossover.
It parked in front of the house.
The driver stepped out.
The boss’s wife.
She carried a thick document envelope.
The husband watched her walk toward the front door.
She rang.
Thirty seconds passed.
The door opened.
His wife stood there wearing a red dress.
Even from down the street, the husband could see her posture change.
The boss’s wife stepped inside.
The door shut.
He remained in the car.
His hands shook.
Five minutes.
Ten.
At 9:44, the front door opened again.
His wife came outside first.
No coat.
Still wearing the red dress.
She gestured angrily.
The boss’s wife remained near the threshold.
His wife appeared to say something sharp.
The other woman did not react.
Then a third vehicle turned onto the street.
The husband recognized it immediately.
The boss.
His stomach tightened.
The boss slowed when he saw his wife’s crossover.
For one second it seemed he might keep driving.
He did not.
He parked.