I've highlighted the ones where you discuss me, the ones where you complained about our marriage, the ones where you planned your future together. She looked at the folder like it might bite her. I can't I can't read these. Yes, you can. Because I had to read them.
I had to sit in this house alone while you were in the Bahamas and read every single message. Where you told another man things you should have told me. Where you shared intimacies with him that belonged to our marriage. Where you built a whole separate relationship while I was here trusting you. James, please read it.
All of it. I want you to see what you did from the outside. I want you to understand that this wasn't a mistake or a moment of weakness. This was a sustained campaign of deception. This was you choosing over and over again to betray me.
She opened the folder with shaking hands, started reading. I watched her face cycle through emotions, shame, regret, recognition, horror, watched her see herself through my eyes, see her betrayal documented and highlighted and undeniable. There's more, I said when she was halfway through. I slid her the second folder. Credit card statements, hotel reservations, restaurant receipts, a financial record of your affair paid for with our money.
She looked at the numbers, the dates, the paper trail of her lies. I'll pay it back every cent. I'll get a second job. All this isn't about money. I pulled the third folder toward me.
Didn't open it yet. This is about truth. About making sure that when this is over, when we're divorced and divided and dealing with the wreckage, the record is clear. You didn't leave because I was a bad husband. You didn't cheat because I neglected you.
You made choices, Rachel. Conscious, deliberate choices to long and betray and destroy what we built. I know, she whispered. I know what I did. Do you?
Because from where I'm sitting, I don't think you really understand the magnitude of this. You violated our marriage vows. You exposed me to health risks without my consent. You stole from our savings. You lied to our friends and family.
You made me doubt my own sanity when I started suspecting something was wrong. You gaslit me, Rachel, for 6 months. You made me feel crazy for noticing that something was off. She was sobbing now, her whole body shaking. What do you want from me?
I've apologized. I've admitted everything. What more can I do? I opened the third folder. Inside was a single document, a print out of an email Marcus had sent to a mutual friend dated 3 weeks ago detailing his relationship with my wife and his plans for their future together.