Chapter 1

The cake had "Happy 38th Birthday, Honey" written on it.

I waited for forty minutes at the T2 exit, holding the cake.

The flight had already landed.

Michael Carter's phone wasn't going through.

I pulled up the family location sharing app.

It showed that he wasn't at the airport.

He was all the way down in Southside.

I zoomed in on the map.

His location marker was sitting right on top of a building.

It was the city hall.

I checked again.

There was another shared location next to his.

The label simply read: [Tina.]

I stood at the airport exit, staring at my phone screen for thirty seconds.

The first thing that came to mind wasn't anger.

It was confusion.

Michael told me he was on the 10 a.m. flight back from Springfield today.

I ordered a cake a day early. It was strawberry mousse, his favorite.

I even took half a day off just for this.

I worked in admin at a clothing company, and taking time off meant losing pay.

But I didn't hesitate.

It was his 38th birthday, and he was worth it.

Now, his flight just landed.

But he wasn't at the airport.

He was at the city hall.

I put the cake on the passenger seat.

I started the car.

I punched in Southside City Hall as my destination.

It was a forty-two-minute drive.

I didn't play any music the whole way.

My mind was filled with that name: Tina.

I know several people named Tina.

My college roommate was Tina Miller.

The receptionist at my company was Tina Brooks.

And Michael's cousin had a daughter named Tina Reed, who was only eight years old.

I told myself maybe it was just a misunderstanding.

Maybe he was just helping out a friend.

Maybe the shared location was off.

But my hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

*****

Forty-two minutes later, I parked across the street from the city hall.

I didn't go in.

I sat in the car, staring at the door.

It was 11:14.

The door opened.

Michael walked out.

He was wearing the deep blue shirt I picked out for him last month.

A woman stood beside him.

Her long hair flowed over a white dress, and she clutched a marriage certificate in her hands.

She turned and flashed him a smile.

I caught a glimpse of her profile.

I finally got a clear look at her face.

My heart skipped a beat.

I recognized her instantly.

She was Tina Miller, my college roommate.

Back in our junior year, when Tina got dumped, she cried all night in our dorm. I held her close and made her a cup of hot milk.

At our senior year graduation dinner, she got wasted and threw up all over me. I took her back to our dorm room and helped her change clothes.

The first year after graduation, when she couldn't find a job, I sent her resume to three different companies.

Later, she landed a sales job at a real estate company.

After that, she started to drift away.

I figured we were both busy.

Now I know why.

She wasn't busy.

She was just too embarrassed.

She was too embarrassed to keep talking to me while having an affair with my husband.

I sat in the parking lot for half an hour.

I didn't cry.

I didn't get out of the car.

But I did one thing.

I pulled out my phone and took a screenshot of the shared location.

Then I opened the camera, aimed it at the entrance of the city hall, and took three photos.

The first one showed Michael and Tina walking out side by side.

The second one was a close-up of the marriage certificate in Tina's hand.

The third one caught Michael opening the car door for her.

Then I put the cake in the trunk and drove home.

*****

At 2 p.m., Michael called me.

"Honey, the flight just landed. It was delayed. Where are you?" His voice sounded just the same as always, warm and natural, without a hint of guilt.

"I'm at home," I said.

"Did you get the cake?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Alright, I'll grab a cab home. Let's go out for dinner tonight."

"Okay."

I hung up.

I stared at those three photos on my phone.

He said the flight was delayed.

He didn't even bother to put any effort into his lies anymore.

How long had he been lying to me like this?

I opened the banking app and checked the transaction history for our joint account.

I scrolled through the transactions one by one.

There was a fixed monthly payment.

5000 dollars.

The recipient's name was Tina Miller.

The description said, [Transfer.]

Every single month, there was a payment like that.

I kept scrolling back.

The first transfer was made four years ago, in March 2022.

That year, I just got pregnant.

I pulled up the chat logs from that month and went back to the very first message. It was from Michael to Tina. [Tina, have you moved into your new place yet? If you need anything, just let me know.]

Tina sent back a smiley.

Then she sent a photo.

It was an apartment living room, a bunch of roses on the couch.

On the card, it said: [To my Tina. —Michael.]

That was four years ago.

That spring, I found out I was pregnant.

Michael rented Tina an apartment, bought her flowers, and called her "my Tina" like she was his whole world.

But when I puked my guts out every single day, he said, "Why are you being so dramatic? My mom worked the whole time she was pregnant with me."

I went through the bank statements for that month, line by line.

It had been four years, forty-eight months, with 5000 dollars each month.

I punched the numbers into the calculator.

It was 240 thousand dollars in total.

The money he sent me for living expenses each month was only 2000 dollars.

But he sent her 5000 dollars every month.

She was the "Tina" he adored.

And I was the wife he always called "so dramatic".

I took a screenshot of the calculator result.

And I saved it to a new album.

I named it "Evidence".

Then I heard the door open.

Michael was back.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Honey, even though it's my birthday, these flowers are for you." He smiled, like nothing in the world was out of place.

I smiled too. "Thanks, honey."

I took the flowers and put them in a vase.

Then I turned to him and said, "The cake's in the fridge. We'll have it tonight."

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. "Marrying you is the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me."

I said nothing.

The cake in the fridge had "Happy 38th Birthday, Honey" written on it.

But this morning, he'd gone and gotten married to another woman.

That night, we ate the cake like it was any other night.

He blew out the candles.

I took a picture of him.

He pulled me into his arms and said, "Take another one."

I smiled.

As the camera snapped, a thought crossed my mind.

Whose name did you put down as your wife on that marriage certificate you're holding?

I didn't blow up on the spot.

It wasn't because I forgave him.

Because it still wasn't enough.

The photos weren't enough.

The bank statements weren't enough.

I needed more evidence.

I wasn't looking for a fight.

What I needed was to trap him so hard that he'd have no way out.