He stood frozen, clearly stunned by the finality in my voice.
I didn't look back. I walked into the bedroom and locked the door.
My heart hammered against my ribs—not from excitement, but from a hollow, devastating ache.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
The call connected instantly. A steady, professional male voice answered.
"Hello, Ms. Delgado."
My private investigator.
"Is it ready?"
"It is. Mr. Henson and his foster sister share a 'sibling bond' that is far more interesting than you suspected." His tone was dry. "I've sent the photos and videos to your email."
I hung up, booted up my laptop, and opened my inbox.
One by one, the files loaded.
Nausea rolled through my stomach.
Photos of Simon holding Sarah, kissing her on the sofa.
Videos of Simon changing the dressing on her legs, his hands lingering, wandering where they shouldn't.
Sarah in a sheer nightgown, perched on Simon's lap, feeding him fruit by hand.
I watched it all. My face felt numb.
So, his "repaying a debt of gratitude" was repaid in bed.
His "responsibility" was an affair with another woman, paraded right under the nose of his legitimate wife.
I downloaded everything to a USB drive.