I left the scene, and grabbed myself a glass of water in the kitchen. I want to call Jasper, but something stopped me from doing so. Instead, I went through the bank statements the anonymous sender. I found a name in the recepients file. Sophia Smith.
Immediately, I searched the name in social media and found a matching account. The earliest post was a year ago, around July. It was a photo of a two hands holding each other. And she wrote: 'Thank you for accompanying me in my birthday. I love you, honey.'
My breathing hitched. Needless to say, I recognized Jasper's hand right away. It was the same hand that held mine earlier. I knew it was him by the scar on his backhand.
A year ago, July, I lost our first baby. I suffered alone in the hospital, broken with the news of the miscarriage, almost dying in pain and heartbreak. And where was my husband? It turned out that he was busy accompanying his mistress of his.
I scrolled again, finding intimate pictures of them together, luxurious gifts, trips and events. My hands were trembling, tears spilling from my eyes. The pain was like a thousands cuts. How could Jasper do this to me?