After I Found My Husband’s Wedding Photos With His Mistress

I came home early. That was the mistake.

I'd finished at the boutique faster than expected. The seamstress had my measurements on file. No need to linger. I drove back to the Knight estate with the windows down, letting the Seattle drizzle mist my face at stoplights. The house would be empty. Gabriel had meetings until six. I could make tea in my room, maybe read for an hour before starting dinner.

But his car was in the driveway.

I parked beside it and grabbed my purse. The front door was unlocked. I stepped into the foyer and heard laughter — bright, unguarded — coming from the kitchen.

The kitchen Gabriel never let me use.

I walked down the hall. My flats made no sound on the marble. The laughter got louder. A woman's voice, warm and easy, like she'd been here a hundred times. Then Gabriel's voice, lower, answering something I couldn't hear.

I stopped in the doorway.

Gabriel stood at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring a pot of pasta. The air smelled like garlic and butter. His hair was slightly mussed. He looked relaxed. Happy, even.

Kaeli Salazar sat at the counter, bare feet hooked on the stool rungs, holding a wine glass. One of the crystal ones from the cabinet I'd been told not to open because they were "too delicate for regular use." Her hands were wrapped around the stem. No gloves. No hesitation. She laughed again at something Gabriel said, tipping her head back.

I stood there. Neither of them noticed me.

Gabriel reached for the pepper grinder. Kaeli leaned forward, elbows on the marble, watching him like he was performing something just for her. He said something I couldn't hear. She grinned.

Then he glanced up and saw me.

His expression didn't shift to guilt. It shifted to irritation. Like I'd walked into a room that wasn't mine.

"You're back early," he said.

I looked at the stove. At the wine. At Kaeli's bare hands on the glass.

"I finished at the boutique," I said quietly.

Kaeli turned on the stool, still smiling. "Oh, Lina. Hi. Gabriel's making his carbonara. You should try it sometime."

I nodded. I didn't know what else to do. "I'll be upstairs."

I walked back down the hall. Behind me, the laughter started again.

---

That night, I sat alone in my bedroom. The one at the end of the hall. Separate from Gabriel's. Always separate.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

An unknown number. A video file.

I opened it.

Gabriel knelt on a bathroom floor. Not ours. Somewhere else. He held a pair of underwear under running water in the sink, working the fabric gently between his fingers. The water ran pink. Blood. He rinsed them carefully, methodically, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His face was soft. Unhurried.

The video ended.

A single emoji appeared below it. A smirk.

No text.

I set the phone face-down on the nightstand. I sat very still.

I remembered the night three years ago when my period came early in his car. I'd tried to tell him. I'd felt the warmth and known immediately. I'd grabbed tissues from my purse, pressed them down, tried to contain it. But the leather seat had a small stain.

He'd pulled over on the side of the highway. Looked at the seat. Looked at me.

Then he slapped me.

Hard enough that my ears rang.

"Get out," he said.

I stared at him. Rain hammered the windshield.

"Gabriel—"

"Get out of my car."

I got out. He drove away. I stood on the shoulder in the rain for forty minutes before I could get a rideshare to pick me up.

When I got home, he was in his room with the door locked. The next morning, he told me the car had been detailed and I was never to sit in it again without "taking precautions."

I watched the video one more time. Then I turned off the phone.

---

The next morning, I needed a folder. Tax documents. Gabriel kept them in a filing box under the bed.

I knelt on the carpet and pulled the box toward me. It was heavier than I expected. I lifted the lid.

Photographs. Dozens of them. Professional prints, thick cardstock, the kind you pay a lot of money for.

Gabriel in a black tuxedo. Kaeli in a white gown.

They stood in a garden. Sunlight. Flowers. She held a bouquet. He had his arm around her waist. They were smiling.

I picked up the top photo. Turned it over. A photographer's stamp. A date.

Three years ago.

The same year he threw me out of the car.

I sat on the floor. I looked at the rest of them. Different poses. Same garden. Same smiles. A whole wedding that never happened. Or maybe it did, in every way that mattered.

I set the photos back in the box. I slid it under the bed. I stood up.

I walked downstairs. I opened my laptop. I downloaded a divorce agreement template. I filled it out. I printed it. I signed my name at the bottom.

I left it on the kitchen counter.

Then I went upstairs. I packed my documents into a small bag. My phone. My wallet. A change of clothes.

I walked out the front door.

I didn't look back.

I flagged a cab at the end of the driveway. The driver asked where I was going.

"A motel," I said. "Anywhere downtown."

He pulled away. I watched the Knight estate disappear in the side mirror.

I felt nothing.

No. That wasn't true.

I felt light.