Chapter 3
I kept replaying everything that happened today in my mind: Grace's expression, Michael's eyes, the closed door, and the words, "Your wife's condition is highly unusual."
Everything screamed that this was far from simple.
Michael was definitely lying to me. He was covering up something big.
What was he hiding from me?
Late at night, as I was about to drift off, I heard the master bedroom door open.
I instantly held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut.
I felt Michael walk in and stand by the bed for a long time.
I could feel his gaze sweeping over my face.
Gone was the warmth it once held; only scrutiny and coldness remained.
My heart raced, ready to leap out of my chest.
What was he looking at? What was he planning to do?
Finally, he turned and left.
I heard the balcony door open softly.
After a while, I quietly got out of bed, walked to the bedroom door, and peeked out through the crack.
Michael stood out on the balcony, his back to me as he talked on the phone.
The night was dead quiet. Though his voice was low, I could make out what he was saying.
He sounded like he was arguing with someone, his tone full of irritation and helplessness.
"How was I supposed to know this would happen? Don't panic. I told you, let me figure something out." Suddenly, he seemed to reach his breaking point and growled, "At a time like this, how could she..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but those words hit me like a ton of bricks.
Who was the "she" he talking about?
That line was like poison, eating away at me all night.
*****
The next morning, when Michael got up, I was already sitting on the living room couch.
I hadn't slept all night, and my eyes were bloodshot.
He saw me and froze for a second, his eyes dodging mine. "Up so early?"
He walked over, like he wanted to say something.
I ignored him and went straight into the bathroom.
In the mirror, I looked haggard with dark circles under my eyes, like a zombie.
Just one day, and I'd been worn down to this.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face again and again.
I needed to clear my head. I couldn't sit around and let Michael keep feeding me lies. I had to find the truth myself.
When I came out of the bathroom, he was dressed and ready to head out.
"I have an early meeting at work today," he said.
He grabbed his briefcase and slipped on his shoes in a hurry, not sparing me a single glance.
"Wait," I called out.
He stopped and turned to look at me.
"Who were you talking to on the balcony last night?" I asked, straight to the point.
His face changed instantly. A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes, but he covered it up fast.
"Work stuff," he said. "A project had some issues."
"Really?" I stared him down. "Which project has a manager called 'she'?"
Michael froze completely. His lips moved, but for a long moment, he couldn't get a word out.
"Helen," he finally said, his voice pleading, "don't ask any more questions, okay? I'm begging you. Some things are better left unknown."
His words confirmed my worst suspicions: he was cheating on me, and that "she" was his side chick.
Was he trying to dump "her" because I might be seriously sick?
Or was my illness somehow connected to "her"?
In an instant, countless dramatic scenarios played out in my mind.
My heart felt like it was submerged in ice water, cold and aching.
"Michael," I stared straight at him and said each word slowly, "We're done."
Without sparing him another glance, I turned, walked back to the bedroom, and closed the door.
I heard him linger outside the door for a bit. Then came a heavy sigh, followed by the sound of the front door closing as he left.
Once again, I was alone in the house.
This time, I didn't cry. Tears wouldn't fix anything.
I needed proof. I needed to know what was really going on.
My eyes fell on the nightstand. Michael's backup phone was lying there.
He had two phones, one for work, one for personal stuff.
He never let his work phone out of his sight, but he rarely used this personal one and sometimes left it at home.
My heart started racing. This was my shot.
I picked up the phone. It was locked, with a four‑digit pattern passcode.
I took a deep breath and started guessing.
Our wedding anniversary? Nope.
His birthday? Nope.
My birthday? Nope.
Kevin's birthday? It worked.
With a soft click, the phone unlocked.