Wife Uncovers Husband's Affair

After finishing up for the day, I opted not to return to the hotel arranged by the company. Instead, I instructed my agent, Everett, to reschedule all my commitments for the upcoming week. I then drove for four hours, crossing from one city to another, to get back home. The recent business trips had been exhausting, and I had been on the road for two consecutive months.

We've been married for seven years, and our daughter, Sarah, is already six. Thankfully, with Jameson at home looking after her full-time, I could focus on work without any worries.

It was 1 a.m. when I finally arrived home. As I entered, I heard noises from the kitchen and thought we might have an intruder. Grabbing a baseball bat, I cautiously approached the source of the sound, only to find Sarah there. Her hair was a mess, and she was sitting by the fridge, nibbling on a raw carrot stick.

I rushed to her, cradling her little face in my hands, feeling a pang of heartache. "Sarah, didn't you have enough to eat tonight? Why didn't you ask Daddy to fix you a snack?"

Just then, Jameson appeared behind me, his voice filled with surprise. "Chelsea, what are you doing home? I thought you had work tomorrow." He scooped Sarah up into his arms, gently stroking her hair. "The doctor mentioned her digestion's been a bit off lately. We were told to keep her evening meals light."

He planted a kiss on her cheek. "Right, sweetheart? We don't want Mommy worrying." Sarah looked a bit uneasy, her fingers twisting together. "Yes, I can't eat too much; it makes my tummy hurt," she murmured before quickly looking down, avoiding my eyes.

"See how she is," Jameson remarked, "after two months, she’s too shy to talk to you now. You settle her down for the night, and I’ll whip up a bowl of ravioli."

Taking Sarah into my arms, I noticed she felt much lighter, which made me sad. She had lost so much weight. I resolved to personally oversee her meals to ensure she regained her health.

When I laid her on the bed, she suddenly winced, sucking in a sharp breath, her brows furrowing in pain. I quickly lifted her nightdress and saw a patch of bruises on her back, my anger flaring instantly. "Jameson!" I called out, furious.

He hurried in, holding a ladle, concern etched on his face. "What happened?" he asked anxiously.

Pointing at Sarah's back, I demanded, "What are these bruises? I entrusted her to you, and this is what happens?"

My raised voice startled Sarah, and she began to cry, clutching my arm and stammering through her sobs. "Mommy, it's okay. Please don't be mad. It's my fault..."

I quickly embraced her, patting her back gently to comfort her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Mommy didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t cry, Sarah..."

I then told Jameson to leave the room.

It took over half an hour to calm Sarah down and get her to sleep. I gently wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes once she was settled.

Heading to the living room, ready to confront Jameson, I was surprised to find him kneeling on a wooden board, looking sheepish. He explained that the bruises were from dance practice and that he'd already taken her to the doctor for ointment, applying it as instructed.

"I didn't want to worry you and disrupt your work, so I didn't mention her injuries," he said. "From now on, I’ll ask the dance teacher to give her easier routines."

His sincerity tempered my anger.

At eight the next morning, the doorbell rang. As I got up to answer it, I glanced at Jameson, still deeply asleep from exhaustion, beside me.

To my surprise, the visitor was Gwen Spencer, Sarah's dance teacher. Her makeup was perfect, and her outfit was stylish and feminine, her neckline even caught my attention. Upon seeing me, she blurted out in surprise, "Chelsea, what are you doing here?"