Truly, it's not that deep, Colton. It's called exploration. People do it all the time. My friend said he cut her off gently. Your friends aren't married to me.
She smirked, lifting her clutch. Exactly. So they can see the bigger picture. The bigger picture, he repeated, voice hollow, is that you're choosing to leave your husband tonight to be with another man. She stepped toward the door with a soft laugh.
Oh, Colton, you'll get over it. Don't wait up. He stood frozen as she brushed past him, her perfume lingering warm and honeyed in the air. The click of her heels echoed down the hallway and staircase. Then the front door opened.
Closed. Silence. A silence so deep and final it pressed into the walls, into the floor, into the very core of him. Colton took one long, steady breath and pulled out his phone. His hands weren't shaking anymore.
His voice wasn't trembling. Reed, it's Colton. Track my wife tonight. I need her location. The moment Colton ended the call with the private investigator, he didn't stand still for even a second.
The house around him felt hollow, almost echoing with the emptiness left behind when Meline walked out in her emerald dress. He swallowed once, steadied his breath, and headed straight for the front door. The evening light was still bright enough to cast long shadows across the driveway. The sun hovering low but far from setting, painting the neighborhood in warm gold. It should have been a peaceful evening, but inside Colton's chest, something deliberate and quiet had taken over.
He climbed into his car, turned the key, and pulled away from the house without looking back. The engine hummed smoothly beneath him as he drove toward the locksmith shop he rarely noticed until now. He stayed focused, hands steady on the wheel, movements controlled and precise. Not once did he question what he was doing. Not once did he hesitate.
His marriage had ended the moment she dismissed his ultimatum as if he were a man she could bend at will. The locksmith shop sat on the corner of a small strip center, its glass windows catching the evening glow. The owner, a man in his mid-fifties wearing a faded flannel shirt, was stepping outside to bring in a display board when Colton pulled up. He approached with calm urgency. "Sir, " Colton called, "I need both locks in my home changed front and back right now.
" The locksmith studied him for half a second, long enough to read the seriousness on his face, and nodded without argument. "Let me lock up and follow you. Shouldn't take long. Colton walked back to his truck as the man closed his shop, grabbed his toolbox, and got into a small service van. The locksmith pulled out behind him, and together they drove back toward the Hail home.
The sun still hung over the rooftops, the entire neighborhood bathed in the last strong light of the day. When they arrived, Colton guided the locksmith to the front door. The man set down his toolbox and immediately began examining the existing lock. The sharp clicking of metal tools echoed through the entryway as he dismantled the first deadbolt. Colton remained on the porch, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed ahead, steady and unblinking.