Jason’s car was parked outside a house I’d never seen before. I sat there sweating behind the wheel, my fingers ice-cold. I thought I was about to catch him cheating — but the truth that came out when he exited that house was something I never saw coming.
I sat in my car, fingers clenched around the steering wheel as I stared at the house across the street. Jason’s car was parked in the driveway, but we didn’t know the people who lived here. I knew all of Jason’s friends, and it definitely wasn’t a client’s place, because Jason worked in logistics at a warehouse across town.
Deep down, I already knew. After our daughter, Stephanie, was born three months ago, Jason had become a ghost in our home; present physically but absent mentally, always distracted, always short-tempered, always on some errand that never quite added up. He’d jump, swipe away texts, and snap at me if I asked who he was chatting to, and I kept finding receipts from restaurants stuffed in his pockets.
It had started that morning when Stephanie wouldn’t stop crying. Nothing soothed her. I went looking for her colic drops, but somewhere between hunting under the couch cushions and emptying the diaper bag, I realized they were probably still in Jason’s car from our trip to the pediatrician.
I called him, but he didn’t answer. Stephanie’s fussing was reaching critical level at that point, so I decided to drive across town and get the medicine from his car with my spare key. He wasn’t at work… he was parked outside a strange house in an unfamiliar suburb, so I drove there instead.
Part of me wanted to march across the street and pound on that door until someone opened up, but I’d watched too many confrontation videos online to think that was a good idea. Just last week, Jason had slammed his hand against the wall and yelled at me about diaper costs, and I didn’t want to face his temper either. What would I do if I came face-to-face with whoever Jason had been sneaking around with? I wasn’t a violent person, but I didn’t think I could keep my cool in that situation.
“This must sound silly, but I need those colic drops,” I finished. “And I need to avoid the drama of confronting my husband’s mistress.”
The dispatcher didn’t judge me. She just said officers were on their way and to stay in my car until they arrived.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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