I watched her come apart, watched her hands tremble as she fiddled with the zipper on her suitcase like that tiny movement might distract me from the guilt radiating off her. “You know,” I said slowly. “Mike, the one you called three times last night at 1:14 a.m. while your phone’s GPS showed you at a beach resort 2 hours away from where your friends were staying.” Her lip began to quiver. “You... You checked my phone?”
I smiled again. “No, Emily, you checked out of my trust.” She collapsed into a chair, eyes wide, breathing uneven. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered, the most predictable line in the book. “Then tell me what it is,” I said calmly.
My voice steady, almost unnervingly quiet, because right now it looks like my wife went on a girl’s trip that included one man and not me. She covered her face and broke down. I’d seen this kind of crying before, the kind that shows up when lies stopped working. I wasn’t furious anymore. I was done.