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

Gabriel sat in his car outside the apartment building. Engine running. Headlights off.

Two weeks since she'd left. Fourteen days. He'd counted them the way you count hours in a hospital waiting room.

Her window was on the third floor. He could see a light. Yellow. Warm. She was home.

He'd driven here three times this week. Monday. Wednesday. Now Friday. He never got out of the car. He didn't know what he'd say if he did.

His phone sat on the passenger seat. No messages. He'd stopped texting after the fifth one went unanswered. The read receipts had disappeared after the second day. She'd turned them off. Or blocked him. He didn't know which was worse.

He looked at the building. Cracked siding. Rusted fire escape. A place where people lived when they had no other options.

She'd left a mansion for this.

He turned off the engine. He sat in the dark. He told himself he'd go up. Knock on the door. Talk to her like an adult.

Forty minutes passed.

He started the car and drove home.

---

The kitchen at the Knight estate was silent at six in the morning.

Gabriel stood at the counter. He stared at the coffee machine. Stainless steel. Italian. Expensive. Lina had used it every morning for ten years. He'd never touched it.

He opened the top. There was a filter basket. Grounds went in there, probably. He looked in the cabinets. Found the coffee. Poured some in. Too much. He scooped half of it back out.

He pressed a button. Nothing happened. He pressed another. The machine beeped. A red light blinked.

He stood there. He didn't know what the red light meant.

He unplugged it. Walked out. Drove to the Starbucks on Fifth.

At the office, his assistant brought him a revised schedule. Half his afternoon meetings had been moved. Again.

"You asked me to keep your evenings clear," she said carefully.

"I didn't ask you to cancel client meetings."

"You fell asleep in the last one, Mr. Knight."

He looked up. She met his eyes. She didn't look away.

"That won't happen again," he said.

She nodded. She left the revised schedule on his desk and closed the door quietly behind her.

Gabriel looked at the paper. He'd lost eight pounds in two weeks. His suits didn't fit right anymore. He'd noticed that morning when he put on his belt and had to use a hole he'd never used before.

He opened his desk drawer. He took out his phone. He scrolled to Lina's contact. His thumb hovered over the call button.

He set the phone face-down on the desk.

He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear.

---

Saturday morning, Kaeli called him.

"I'm going to the grocery store," she said. "The one on Capitol Hill. Come with me."

Gabriel was sitting in his living room. He'd been sitting there for an hour. "Why?"

"Because you need to get out of that house. And I need someone to carry bags."

He went.

They pulled into the parking lot at eleven. The store was small. Older. The kind of place that sold dented cans at a discount.

Kaeli took his arm as they walked in. He let her.

The automatic doors slid open. Fluorescent lights. Linoleum floors. A radio playing somewhere in the back.

Kaeli grabbed a basket. "Let's see if they have that bread I like."

Gabriel followed her down the first aisle. He wasn't paying attention. He was thinking about the coffee machine. About whether he should just buy a new one. A simpler one.

Then he heard her voice.

"Good morning. Can I help you find anything?"

He stopped.

Lina stood at the end of the aisle. She wore a green apron with the store's logo. Her hair was pulled back. Her hands held a pricing gun.

She was smiling.

Not at him. At a woman with a shopping cart.

"I'm looking for the gluten-free section," the woman said.

"Aisle seven," Lina said. "Left side, middle shelf. We just got a new shipment in yesterday."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Lina's smile didn't falter. She turned. She saw Gabriel.

The smile stayed.

"Good morning," she said. "Welcome to Garden Market. Let me know if you need help finding anything."

Her voice was pleasant. Professional. The voice of someone greeting a stranger.

Kaeli stepped forward. "Lina. Hi."

Lina's eyes shifted. "Hello."

"I didn't know you worked here," Kaeli said. She glanced at Gabriel. Back to Lina. "This is... nice."

Lina nodded. "We have a sale on pasta this week. Aisle three. And the bakery section has fresh sourdough if you're interested."

Kaeli's smile thinned. "I'm sure we'll find everything we need."

"Great." Lina's hand moved to her apron pocket. She pulled out a stack of coupons. She held them out. "These might be useful. They expire tomorrow."

Kaeli didn't take them.

Lina set them on the shelf beside her. "Have a nice day."

She walked past them. Down the aisle. Around the corner. Gone.

Gabriel stood there. The pricing gun's clicks echoed from somewhere in the store. Distant. Rhythmic.

Kaeli touched his arm. "Gabriel?"

He didn't move.

"Let's go," Kaeli said quietly.

They walked back to the entrance. Kaeli returned the basket. Gabriel followed her to the car.

He got in. He sat in the passenger seat. He stared at the dashboard.

Kaeli started the engine. "She's fine. See? You were worried for nothing."

Gabriel didn't answer.

Kaeli pulled out of the parking lot. She turned onto the main road. She kept talking. Something about brunch. About a place she wanted to try.

Gabriel wasn't listening.

He was thinking about Lina's smile. The way it hadn't changed when she saw him. The way her voice stayed steady. Polite. Empty.

Like he was nobody.

Like he'd always been nobody.

Twenty minutes passed. Kaeli stopped talking. She glanced at him.

"Are you okay?"

Gabriel looked out the window. Seattle blurred past. Gray sky. Wet streets.

"She didn't even recognize me," he said.

Kaeli's hands tightened on the wheel. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course she did."

"No." His voice was quiet. Flat. "She looked at me like I was a customer. Like I was anyone."

Kaeli didn't respond.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

For ten years, he'd kept Lina at a distance. He'd built walls. He'd made rules. He'd convinced himself it was necessary. Clean. Controlled.

Now she was gone. And the distance was absolute.

He'd wanted space.

He'd gotten it.

All of it.