Another week passed, the tension between us palpable. I continued my quiet investigation, driven by a need for answers. I decided to follow him one Thursday, the day of his recurring meetings. I left work early, my heart pounding as I trailed a safe distance behind his car.
He drove to a small café in a part of town we rarely visited. I parked a block away, watching as he entered, his demeanor relaxed, unhurried. I waited, the minutes stretching into an hour before he emerged, alone.
My phone buzzed again—a text from him. « Running late, will be home soon. » I watched him drive away, my mind reeling with the implications. He hadn’t seen me, and I was left with more questions than answers.
That night, I lay in bed, the ceiling a blank canvas for my thoughts. I had seen him, confirmed the meetings, but the truth remained elusive, a shadow just out of reach.
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