We stopped to fill up the car. My husband was driving, I was next to him…

I thought about our marriage. We’d married for love—I remembered it so vividly, like it was yesterday. But maybe our inability to have kids, the sudden loss of my parents, who were my world, and this abrupt financial windfall had slowly, imperceptibly eroded the foundation of our relationship.

Michael’s late returns became not just frequent but routine. Even on weekends, he’d leave, citing urgent meetings with partners, critical project tasks, or mandatory corporate events. One Saturday morning, I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching Michael hurriedly eat breakfast.

His phone rang sharply. He glanced at the screen and quickly flipped it face-down on the table. He never used to hide who was calling.

Before, if it was work, he’d casually say, “It’s the office,” and sometimes even share details if the call was interesting or funny. “Who was that?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as if it barely mattered. Michael froze for a split second, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Oh, uh… a new client. Big potential, but picky. We’re still hashing out contract details.

Not much to tell yet, don’t want to jinx it.” His response was rushed, more evasive than ever. I didn’t press, sensing further questions would only spark irritation.

Michael had always been someone who loved talking about work in detail. But lately, he avoided the topic or gave vague answers. At the end of each month, I had a habit of reviewing our card statements to plan our budget and track spending.

But last month, Michael said, “Emily, let me handle the statements from now on. I’ve got a lot of corporate expenses running through, and I don’t want them mixed up with our personal stuff. I’ll take care of everything.” He stopped showing me the statements. From the start of our marriage, we’d managed our finances openly. No secrets, no hidden expenses.

“Spending seems higher lately,” I said one day, choosing my words carefully. “Have you made any big purchases I don’t know about?” Michael’s face flashed with slight annoyance.

“Look, there’s a lot of work-related expenses, like I said. It’s not your concern, honestly. I earn it, I decide how to spend it.”

I was stunned by his response. In all our years together, I’d never heard him say “not your concern.” Our assets were shared—at least, that’s how we’d always seen it.

Especially the inheritance from my parents, which had fundamentally enabled our current lifestyle. Over lunch at our favorite café, I confided in Sarah again.

“Emily, there’s something that’s been bothering me. I didn’t want to upset you prematurely,” she began cautiously. “Remember last week when I went to Portland for work?” “Well,” she continued, “I saw Michael there.

At first, I thought I might’ve been mistaken—plenty of people look alike. But then he turned, and I knew. It was definitely him.

And he wasn’t alone.” My heart pounded, blood rushing to my temples. Who was he with? My voice came out hollow, scared.

“With a woman. Blonde. Pretty striking…

Maybe a bit younger than you. They were at a café, sitting close, talking intimately…