No answer.
Then I heard a phone ringing.
From inside her parked car.
That was how she had beaten location tracking.
She left the phone at the gym.
According to the gym receptionist, Melissa had not actually checked in there for almost eight months.
The affair had not started recently.
I had been living inside a lie for most of a year.
Chapter 7: My Father’s Advice
I called my father from the borrowed car.
I made it through maybe four sentences before I started crying.
I had not cried in front of my father since I was a teenager.
He did not tell me to be strong.
He did not tell me to confront her.
He listened.
Then said:
“Your marriage may be finished, but don't destroy your position because you're hurting.”
My father had always been practical.
He contacted an old friend who practiced family law.
“Get evidence.”
That was the advice.
Not revenge.
Evidence.
When Melissa called later, she said she had just finished working out.
I sat in my car staring at the mall where her phone had been sitting alone.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You sound strange.”
“I think I’m getting sick.”
That lie came easier than I expected.
I told her I had left work early because I felt feverish.
When I got home, I made sure my eyes looked tired enough to support the story.
Melissa touched my forehead.
For one awful second, the tenderness felt real.
I almost broke.
Instead, I told her I would sleep in the spare room so she wouldn’t catch whatever I had.
That night, I heard her laughing quietly in the bedroom.
Messaging somebody.
I barely slept.
Then something occurred to me.
Maybe I had been searching for Cole under the wrong name.
Chapter 8: The Dumbbell
The following morning, Melissa showered.
I opened her phone.
We had always known each other’s passcodes.
That was part of why I had doubted my own suspicions.
A cheater would change the password, right?
Not Melissa.
She was smarter.
I linked her messaging account to my laptop.
Then I found the contact.
A female name.
Profile picture: a dumbbell.
The conversation looked ordinary at first.
Work language.
Meetings.
Papers.
Boss.
Office.
Then I read carefully.
Boss is still in the office.
Can you bring the documents to my desk?
Meeting moved to 5:30.
Melissa did not have an office.
Her boss was a woman.
And suddenly “boss” meant me.
“Documents” meant something else.
“Meeting” meant Cole.
Most older messages had been deleted.
The remaining ones were enough to show a system.
Not enough to prove an affair legally.
My attorney confirmed that.
“You know what it means.”
“Yes.”
“A court may not.”
He needed better evidence.
Photographs of them kissing would help.
But the cleanest evidence would come from my own home.