37All this talk of dating got me thinking. I had to know for myself whether Sharon had told me the truth. So, I did what any wronged but sorrowful husband would do. I staked out my house so I could spy on my wife.
Eight o'clock on a Saturday evening found me discreetly parked across the street from the home I loved, the home that called me, the home I yearned for every waking moment. Knowing myself well; that I might use this stake-out as a loafable moment, I broke with tradition and sipped a coffee to go along with the Danish I'd purchased from the local coffee bar. I'd need the caffeine to prevent me from slipping into blissful unconsciousness.
I'd assembled a spy get-up, well, a black turtleneck but I'd also found an old pair of binoculars in Catherine's basement. Her kids had been in
