THE HUNT
1052 Words
Vanessa started keeping a journal.
Not a diary — evidence. She wrote down dates, times, excuses. She noted when Adrian came home late, when he smelled like different soap, when he smiled at his phone.
Monday: Home at 9:30. Said dinner with client. No name given.
Tuesday: Home at 10:15. Showered immediately. Used my shampoo to cover something.
Wednesday: Didn't come home at all. Texted "working late, fell asleep on couch."
She read the entries again and again. The pattern was clear. He was seeing someone. And she was going to find out who.
---
She started following him.
Not every day — that would be obvious. But she knew his schedule. She knew when he left the office, which route he took home, which restaurants he claimed to visit.
On Thursday, she parked across the street from Cross Capital Partners at 6 PM.
She watched the glass doors. Watched the employees file out. Watched the lights go off floor by floor.
At 7:30, Adrian walked out.
He wasn't alone.
Nina walked beside him. They weren't touching. They weren't even looking at each other. But they walked in sync — the same pace, the same rhythm.
They got into separate cars. Adrian drove toward the highway. Nina drove toward the city.
Vanessa followed Adrian.
---
He didn't go home.
He drove to a small apartment building on the south side — modest, unremarkable. He parked on the street, sat in his car for a moment, then walked inside.
Vanessa sat in her car, watching the building.
Whose apartment is this?
She didn't know. But she wrote down the address.
---
Inside the apartment, Adrian climbed the stairs to Nina's floor.
She was waiting for him, the door unlocked, a single lamp burning in the living room.
"You're late," she said.
"Traffic."
She smiled. "Liar."
He pulled her into his arms. "I'm here now."
She kissed him. "That's all that matters."
They didn't talk about Vanessa. They didn't talk about the future. They just existed — in the small apartment, on the sagging couch, in the quiet dark.
Later, lying in her bed, Adrian traced the curve of her spine.
"Nina."
"Mm."
"I told Vanessa I wanted to see a marriage counselor."
She tensed. "Why?"
"Because I need to look like I'm trying. For the divorce. For the lawyers."
She turned to face him. "You're playing a game."
"I'm protecting myself. And you." He touched her face. "I'm going to leave her, Nina. I meant what I said. But I have to do it carefully."
She nodded slowly. "How long?"
"A few months. Maybe less."
Months. She would have to lie for months. Pretend to be just his assistant. Smile at Vanessa. Keep her hands off him in public.
"I can do that," she said.
She wasn't sure she believed herself.
---
Derek hadn't seen Vanessa in two weeks.
He told himself it was for the best. He told himself he was healing. But every night, he lay in his empty bed and thought about her.
I love you. But I can't be the person who destroys my brother.
He had meant it. But meaning it and living with it were different things.
On Friday, he went to a bar near his apartment. He sat alone, drinking whiskey he didn't taste.
A woman approached him. Pretty. Blonde. Smiling.
"Buy me a drink?"
He looked at her. She wasn't Vanessa.
"Sure," he said.
He bought her a drink. They talked about nothing. She touched his arm. He didn't pull away.
This is what moving on looks like, he told himself.
But when she leaned in to kiss him, he turned his head.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't."
She looked confused. Hurt. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No. You did everything right. I'm just —" He stopped. "I'm not ready."
She left. He finished his drink. Then another.
He walked home alone.
---
Vanessa hired a private investigator.
She found him online — a former cop named Frank, with gray hair and tired eyes. She met him in a coffee shop, paid cash, gave him the address she had written down.
"I need to know who lives there," she said. "And if my husband visits."
Frank nodded. "I'll have something for you in a week."
"A week?"
"These things take time, Mrs. Cross. I'll be thorough."
She wanted to scream. A week felt like a year. But she nodded, paid him half, and left.
---
That night, Adrian came home at a reasonable hour.
Vanessa was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. She hadn't cooked in months.
"Something smells good," he said.
"I thought I'd surprise you."
He kissed her cheek — a peck, distant, mechanical. She wanted to flinch.
They ate in silence. The food was good. She didn't taste it.
"Adrian," she said.
"Yes?"
"Do you ever think about the beginning? When we first met?"
He looked up. His expression was cautious. "Sometimes."
"I've been thinking about it a lot lately. How happy we were."
"We were happy," he said.
"What happened?"
He set down his fork. "I don't know. Life. Time. Us."
She nodded. "Can we get it back?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," he said. "I'd like to try."
Liar, she thought. You're lying to my face.
But she smiled. "Me too."
---
After dinner, Adrian went to his study. Vanessa went to the bedroom.
She pulled out her journal.
Friday: He came home on time. We had dinner. He said he wants to try. I don't believe him.
She closed the journal and hid it in her underwear drawer.
Her phone buzzed.
Frank: Got a lead already. Call me tomorrow.
She stared at the message.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, I might know who she is.
She didn't sleep.
---
Across town, Nina lay in her bed, alone.
Adrian had gone home. She could still feel his warmth on the sheets. She could still smell him on her skin.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian: I miss you.
She smiled in the dark.
Nina: I miss you too.
Adrian: Tomorrow. Late night.
Nina: I'll be waiting.
She set the phone down and looked at her mother's photograph.
"I'm in too deep," she whispered. "I don't know how to get out."
The face in the photo didn't answer.
- Writer
