The drive home was a blur. My mind kept replaying those photos, trying to make sense of them—the restaurant photos must have been taken during those business dinners he claimed to have; the hotel probably during his frequent work trips. My phone started buzzing as soon as I walked through my front door. Sarah was sending messages—dozens of them. Screenshots of conversations between her and James:
I don’t love her anymore. I haven’t for a long time. We’ll tell everyone after the divorce. You’re the only one I want to be with. I can’t wait to start our life together.
Message after message appeared on my screen, each one a fresh knife in my heart. The timestamps showed conversations going back months—my husband and my sister plotting their future while I underwent fertility treatments, believing I was the problem in our marriage.
I spent that night pacing through my house, touching James’s things and wondering if everything about our life together had been a lie.
The first call from my parents came at 7 a.m. sharp. I let it ring four times before answering.