It was Luis Alvarez.
Luis was one of the security guards at our condo building. He was probably in his late fifties, cheerful, talkative, and knew more about the residents than any management company ever could.
We talked often.
Sports.
Weather.
Cars.
Nothing important.
One Tuesday morning, I noticed him rubbing his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Getting old.”
He smiled.
“Had to help move a heavy couch yesterday.”
I laughed.
“You need a massage.”
Luis looked at me.
“Maybe your guy can help me.”
“My guy?”
“The massage therapist who comes for Mrs. Brooks.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What massage therapist?”
Luis’s smile disappeared.
He realized immediately.
“Oh.”
“Luis.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I thought you knew.”
My mouth had gone dry.
“Do you have camera footage?”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
The building required visitors to sign in, but Luis knew which days I worked late and had apparently noticed the same man appearing more than once.
He pulled up security footage.
Cole Hartman walked into my building.
Gym bag over one shoulder.
Cap pulled low.
I stared at the screen.
“How many times?”
Luis swallowed.
“A few.”
A few.
Those two words destroyed every explanation I had spent the previous year constructing.
I asked my boss for the rest of the day off.
Then I borrowed a coworker’s car.
And followed my wife.
Chapter 6: The Mall
Melissa left work at her normal time.
She drove toward the shopping center where she claimed to train.
I stayed several cars behind.
My hands were shaking so badly that I had to keep reminding myself to loosen my grip on the steering wheel.
She parked near the gym.
For one brief second, relief hit me.
Then Cole appeared.
He had been waiting beside another row of cars.
Melissa walked toward him.
They hugged.
Not a friendly hug.
Then they kissed.
I felt something inside my chest collapse.
Cole put his hand around her waist, the same way he had at the Smith machine more than a year earlier.
Except now there was no pretending it was coaching.
They walked away from the gym.
I followed on foot.
A few blocks away, they entered a private residential development. When I tried to continue, the guard at the entrance stopped me.
“Can I help you?”
I looked through the gate.
Melissa and Cole were disappearing down the street together.
I pointed.
“That couple.”
The guard followed my hand.
“Do you know them?”
“I thought I did.”
He looked at me strangely.
I asked whether they lived there.
The guard refused to give me information, which was appropriate.
Then he said something casually.
“I think they're together. Seen them a few times.”
I walked back toward the mall feeling sick.
Melissa’s car was still there.
I called her.