Soon, I thought, soon outside a car passed, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling. Then darkness again. Then silence. And in that silence, I began planning tomorrow. Morning came too early and too bright.
Sunlight streaming through windows I'd forgotten to close, turning our bedroom into a gallery of empty spaces. I woke disoriented, reaching automatically for Rachel before remembering. The sheets on her side were cold, undisturbed, accusatory in their smoothness. I lay there for a moment, taking inventory of how I felt. Angry, yes.
Hurt, definitely. But underneath those expected emotions was something else, something clearer and colder. Purpose. The kind of focused determination you get when you stop hoping things will fix themselves. And start accepting that you're going to have to break them further before anything can heal.
My phone showed eight missed calls and 14 new messages, all from Rachel, except for one from a number I didn't recognize. I ignored them all and went downstairs to make coffee. Moving through the morning routine with mechanical precision. Everything felt different now. The kitchen where I'd made her breakfast a thousand times.
The living room where we'd watch movies. The doorway where she'd stood dripping rainwater. And lies just 12 hours ago. The coffee was brewing when my phone rang again. This time it was a number I recognized.
David Chen, my best friend since college, calling at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, which meant Rachel had already started working her side of the story. You've talked to her, I said instead of hello. Jesus Christ, James, she called me at midnight sobbing. Said you kicked her out, accused her of some affair that you'd completely lost it. David's voice was careful, walking the tightroppe of friendship.
I told her I needed to hear your side before it's not an affair. I interrupted. An affair implies secrecy and shame. What Rachel had with Marcus was more like a parallel relationship. Six months, David.
Six months of texts and late nights in a two-way vacation together while I thought she was at a work conference. Silence on the other end. Then, yeah. Do you have proof? Because she's telling everyone you're paranoid that you've been accusing her of things based on I have a 60-page dossier of proof.
Phone records, credit card statements, hotel reservations, security footage, text messages she thought she'd deleted. I have a photo of them at a beachside restaurant in the Bahamas on a date when she was supposedly in a conference room in Orlando. I have receipts for romantic dinners charged to our joint account that she told me were client meetings. I poured coffee, watched it steam. I have enough proof to convince a jury.
David, I definitely have enough to convince our friends. Another pause. What do you need? And that's why David had been my best friend for 15 years. No judgment.