The wedding cake was still in the fridge when I felt the first chill of doubt. My new wife said she had a “splitting headache” and needed to stay home while I went to finish some post-wedding errands at the office.
I tried to focus on work, but a notification from our smart doorbell showed a car I didn’t recognize pulling into our driveway. I sat in my truck for ten minutes, my heart hammering against my ribs, before I decided to drive back.
The house was silent, but the deadbolt wasn’t turned—a lock I always insist on securing. I didn’t call out her name; instead, I pulled out my phone and hit record, walking toward the master bedroom with ghost-like steps.
When I pushed the door open, the smell of unfamiliar cologne hit me before I saw a single thing. I flipped the light switch, and the person under the covers wasn’t alone.
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