Cheater?
1151 Words
LORA'S POV
Later, around midnight, a text from him chimes in, “Sorry, I got smashed. Best for me to stay at Matt's.”
This is getting alarming!
Who even the f**k is Matt? He's mentioned him severally but I have never met him. And in over the whole period of our marriage he's never been out overnight, getting wasted. This is all unprecedented.
At dawn, he arrives about half an hour before I leave for work. I make my accusations. I don't go into details. I just ask him if he's cheating on me. He's silent for a moment, then he smirks and then denies, denies, denies. He reassures me and kisses my cheeks, one by one. He looks me right in the eyes, unwavering. "I love you more than anything. How could I ever do such to you?"
But even as I leave for work my inner conflict is unbearable. What if he's lying. Men are good at lies. I grab his home laptop on my way out. I will dig and see if there is anything, just to make my brain rest.
During my lunch break, I sift through all his messaging apps. I find nothing. Relief starts to wash over me until I check his emails and spot a message to someone named Silvia.
"Need to be careful, she knows something.”
Rage fills my insides and my doubts are back. Is he trying to hide his affairs?
That evening I make sure to get home before he does. I check his closet, clothes pockets, drawers, but I find nothing. Every piece of clothing, even the ones I hadn’t washed, smells freshly laundered and neatly folded. Guilt rinse I suppose.
When he arrives home he is sweet and affectionate as usual. But I notice something, he is tied to his phone. He's constantly checking it, and keeps it tucked away or held ever-so-close. I realize it's so unusual when he gets up and goes outside for a call.
I need to get into that phone. It’s my best proof.
I observe him unlock it several times while taking our dinner. I look from the corner of my eye and follow the shape of the pattern with a pen on my my sketch book. Three times watching and I conclude it's an Z.
His father's name's Zion. Men's so predictable. My inner voice is howling.
Later, he's in the shower and oddly, without his phone. I stare at the handset.
I have few seconds to do the deed.
I pick it up and test the pattern. And BINGO! Phone unlocked. My palms start to sweat.
I hear him fumbling in the bathroom, coming out. I lock and put it down and then pretend to be washing my hands. He swipes the phone off the counter and heads to our bedroom. I am not sure he'd not seen my hands shaking.
What if he changes the pattern? What if he knows I know the pattern? Now I have less hope and even less time.
In the bedroom, he says he's too tired to be intimate but stays on the phone for more than an hour. I pretend to sketch on my book while watching him and in another hour he's snoring. Phone under his chest.
My heart beats hand as I reach for it. He rolls in his sleep and I manage to pluck it from under him.
I have the phone and he's dead asleep, snoring. I take a huge breath and use the same the same pattern. It immediately unlocks. Time for scary answers.
Every app holds a new surprise for me. Texts from that same name Silvia. She has no photos in the contacts.
In the texts he's thanking her for a great time. Saying the s*x was good. They are short texts, mostly from him. Her texts only dictate where and when they'll meet, nothing more. There are at least six months worth texts.
And there is one from today evening. One he's already read. "Tomorrow, lunch Hilton club. Wear the suit."
He's also been sending her sexually explicit pictures and he's received money in return.
There is nothing I want to know more than who this woman, Silvia is.
I take pictures of his phone with mine. Every email, every text, every picture, every bank statement, every cash transaction. lt is easy putting together a where he actually was versus where he'd told me he was.
I am fuming.
By the time I wake up the next day he's already gone. But today, I’m going to find out who he’s really been seeing. I don’t think it’s Mrs. Weston, her name isn’t Silvia. But if it is, I’ll know soon enough.
I keep an eye on Mrs. Weston all day, watching her like a hawk. Just after lunch, the sleek black car pulls into the compound. Colen steps out, dressed in a tuxedo, and opens her door. My mind flashes back to the text I saw on his phone yesterday: “Wear a suit.” f*****g bastard!
I turn to Jason. “Hey, can you cover for me? I’ve got an emergency. I’ll be back soon.”
Before he can answer, I’m already out the door. I pull out my phone, I hail a taxi and slide into the backseat.
“Follow that black luxury car,” I instruct the old driver, pointing to the sleek vehicle that has just pulled into the traffic.
I know stalking is wrong, but I have a right to know whether he's cheating on me. He's a selfish, dishonest , liar and I won't get an honest answer from him.
We tail the car for about fifteen minutes until it turns into a parking lot by a brick building with a big sign: Hilton Gardens. A club!
“Taxis aren’t allowed in there, ma’am,” the driver says. I ask him to park down the street. He does, and I walk inside on my own.
I walk to one of the workers on the big counter and privately give her a few hundreds to get me the room number and the key of the desired room. A couple of minutes later, she returns and tells me that my husband is in room 13 and gives me a keycard to the room too.
Upon reaching the door I open it slowly. I hear her voice and Colen's in the bedroom of the Airbnb. Then it gets quiet, and then I hear her moans.
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I peek out and I can see them through the bathroom mirror. He is on top of her and they are almost naked.
I try to compose myself from storming in and not doing so well at it. Then I realize my smartphone can take pictures. I turn on video record instead and point it towards them.
- Writer
