My Wife Said Our Apartment Was Unfinished ,Her Lover Answered the Door

He looked up at me, his expression carrying the guarded professionalism of someone used to dealing with strangers. "And you are?"

I held out my phone. On the screen was a photo of my marriage certificate with Grace, along with a screenshot of the purchase contract.

"I'm the owner of that unit."

He studied it for a long time, then asked to see my ID. He cross-checked it several times before finally speaking. "What would you like to know?"

"When was this unit delivered?"

"End of 2019." He said it like it was nothing. "Over three years ago now."

A high-pitched ringing filled my skull.

Three and a half years ago was exactly when Grace had told me the project stalled.

"So who's living in it now?"

He hesitated. Maybe it was the look on my face, because he lowered his voice. "A young man. Mid-twenties, good-looking. He said..."

"Said what?"

"Said it was his girlfriend's place." He paused. "Your wife."

I gripped the edge of the front desk, my fingernails digging into the countertop.

"I have security footage," he said quietly. "Do you want to see it?"

I nodded.

He pulled up the recordings from the past six months and hit fast-forward.

On the screen, Grace appeared at the building entrance again and again. Sometimes she carried grocery bags. Sometimes she held the man's hand.

They stood downstairs. The man leaned down and kissed her. He smiled, his arm sliding around her waist, and they walked through the entrance together.

Every single one of those days lined up with the times she'd told me she was away on business.

I stared at the screen. My stomach heaved.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, turned, and rushed to the restroom. I hunched over the sink and dry-heaved for a long time. Nothing came up.

The property manager knocked on the door from outside. "You alright in there?"

I splashed water on my face, walked out, and gave him a nod. I didn't say a word.

I pulled myself together as best I could and went home.

When I pushed open the door, Grace was sitting on the couch watching TV. The moment she saw me, she stood up. "How come you're home so early today?"

"You look terrible." She walked over and reached for my forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

I took a step back without thinking.

Her hand hung in the air. She blinked, then smiled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I said. "Just tired, I think."

"Then lie down and rest. I'll get you some hot water." She turned toward the kitchen, her voice full of concern. "What do you feel like eating tonight? I'll make it."

I sat on the couch and watched her walk away.

She moved around the kitchen the same way she had yesterday. The same way she had every day for the past three years.

But all I could see was the footage.

His arm around her. His lips on her cheek. Her smiling back at him.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. My stomach lurched again.

Friday night, Grace said she had a business trip over the weekend.

"There's a project I need to discuss with a client. They can't come to us, so we're going to them." She packed her bag as she talked. "I'll be back Monday night."

I leaned against the bedroom doorframe and watched her. I gave a small "mm."

She zipped up her suitcase, walked over, and hugged me. "Make sure you eat properly while I'm gone. Don't just throw something together."

I nodded.

The next morning, I took a cab to her office.

The young woman at the front desk didn't recognize me. She asked who I was looking for.

"Is Grace away on a business trip?" I stood at the desk without moving.

"And you are?"

"Her husband," I said.

She froze for a second. She didn't respond.

Just then, a middle-aged man walked over from nearby. He looked like one of Grace's coworkers.

He'd overheard our exchange. His eyes swept over me, sizing me up.