The doorbell finally rang.
I stood, already knowing that life as I knew it had ended.
Michael was there, toolbox in hand, concern etched across his face.
“Where’s the problem?” he asked.
“In the bathroom,” I said quietly. “I’d appreciate it if you handled it yourself.”
We walked down the hall. The banging grew louder. Michael stopped abruptly when he recognized his wife’s voice. He looked at me, confused. I said nothing—only pointed at the door.
He understood before unlocking it. His hand hesitated on the key, as though he wanted to postpone what was coming.
When the door opened, the truth spilled out.
Emily crumpled to the floor, clutching a towel, crying uncontrollably. Daniel tried to speak—tried to explain, to defend the indefensible. Michael didn’t raise his voice. His silence was devastating.
He shut off the remaining water, placed his toolbox down, and looked at Emily with heartbreak and revulsion intertwined.
“Leave,” he said. “Now.”
Emily left without meeting my eyes. Daniel took a step toward me. I lifted my hand.
“Don’t,” I said. “You’ve lost that right.”
