I stopped almost instantly, staring down to where the shiny object had fallen, knowing what it was without having to inspect it. I moved a pair of slacks that were blocking my view and, sure enough, there it was. The condom lay on the floor—it wasn’t completely unusual, it was the brand we used, but why had it been in with his dirty laundry? They had no reason to leave our bedroom.
My first reaction wasn’t to accuse him of an affair. The first emotion I remember feeling was that of true confusion. How had it gotten there? I dug through the basket to no avail. There were no more waiting to be found. Next, I checked his underwear drawer where we always kept a box. It was there, right where it always was.
I pulled the box out, counting the number of condoms we had left—six. When was the last time we’d replaced them? I couldn’t remember. Suddenly, my mind was filled with anger as the realization that this could point to an affair hit me. Was it possible? Could I picture Mark cheating? He’d been distant since starting his job, but our sex life was great. Aside from the usual things couples fought about, we had a good marriage. What reason could he have for straying?
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my oversized sherpa cardigan and clicked on the green icon that would take me to my recent calls. His name was at the top of the list. I clicked on it, watching the screen turn dark as the line began to ring.
I waited, chewing my lip and pacing the bedroom floor, my feet rubbing lines in the carpet.
He answered on the third ring, and I felt an unfamiliar sting of tears fill my eyes at the sound of his voice. How could he betray me? How could he do it? “Hello?”
“M-mark?” I asked.
“Hannah?” He sounded distant. Distracted.
I realized in that moment I had no plan of attack. I had no idea what I was going to say to him, though I was ready to give him a piece of my mind. I needed to be calm. Rational. I didn’t need to accuse him of anything until I had more proof. Thoughts plagued my mind—all the things I could say, all the things I shouldn’t. I knew Mark. I knew if I went in headfirst with accusations and questions, his wall would go up and I’d get nothing out of him. Instead, I had to play it smart, despite all the pain and emotion begging me not to. I wanted answers, but there was only one way to get them with him and this wasn’t it.
“What is it?” he asked, obvious concern in his voice for the first time.
“S-sorry. I just, um, I wondered what time you were planning to be home? I was thinking of running into town to see my mom, but I want to be home when you get here.”
He mumbled something under his breath, and I heard his hand swish over the microphone as he said something indiscernible to someone in the background. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he said finally. “Go out with your friend or whatever. I’ll be at work late, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes at the fact that he hadn’t even heard my request. “Okay, thanks.”
“Was that it? Sorry, honey, I’m right in the middle of something.” His tone now lacked the concern he’d been showing before. He was back to work before I’d given him the okay.
“Yeah, that was it. Sorry to bother you,” I muttered.
“Talk to you soon, Han. Gotta go.” With that, the line went dead, and I was left alone, still holding the purple condom wrapper.
I tossed the packet back in the drawer with disgust, not sure whether to be angry or proud of myself for not asking him about it. Finally, I strode past the hamper on my way out the door of the bedroom. I pulled up the banking app on my phone, scrolling through our latest transactions. It was something I rarely did—Mark handled the finances. I know it sounds old school, but it worked. I still had access to everything. My name was on every account, but he made sure the money was always there and I never had to question it. At least, I’d had no reason to question until now. Now, I had every reason to second guess our unspoken arrangement.
I scrolled through the transactions, looking for anything unusual. Trips to the gas stations, lunches at local restaurants, bills being paid. Nothing screamed strange to me, not right out of the gate. I let out a breath. Okay. That was a good sign.
The next step was to check his computer. I walked into the office across the hall from our bedroom. Truly, it was an extra bedroom, but with just the two of us, he’d managed to turn it into an office, and I hadn’t complained. Someday, I hoped it would be a nursery, and God knows what he would do with his monstrosity of a desk, but that was an argument for a different day.
I opened the silver MacBook Air, typing in the password he used for all of his devices. The lock screen disappeared, allowing me access to a version of him I very rarely saw. The computer held the websites he visited when I was fast asleep, the apps he’d downloaded to entertain him when I couldn’t, and the music and podcasts he listened to with headphones on to shut me out. I’d always held a slight resentment toward his computer—he spent far too much time furiously typing away on it with the rest of the world, me, shut out.
That day, none of it mattered. I was thankful that I had a version of him tucked away for me to rifle through when things were bad. I had no idea how bad things were going to get.
First, I checked his browsing history: Facebook, of course, a few legal forums, YouTube, and GoogleDocs. There was nothing suspicious—I’d have to dig deeper. I opened up his Facebook and checked his messages. Nothing out of the ordinary. Next, I pulled up GoogleDocs—what trouble could he really get into on YouTube?—and searched through legal documents he’d worked up. I shouldn’t have snooped. It was none of my business, and he’d made that clear. His clients had a right to privacy, even from me. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted to know the truth about my husband and about our marriage. Was it in jeopardy? If so, why?
As I scrolled through the documents, one in particular caught my eye. It was labeled Untitled and the thumbnail showed it was shorter than the rest of the documents. I clicked to open it up and read through the brief letter. It wasn’t addressed to anyone, yet it was very obviously written to a specific person.
I don’t know what you want from me, but what I can offer is money. A lot of it. If you will both agree to sign a non-disclosure, in perpetuity, then I will pay you whatever you’d like. Send your terms to [email protected] by end of day Friday and we can discuss this.
That was it. I read over it twice. Who could the letter be to, and what was it about? What great secret could he be withholding that he’d offer up our personal finances to keep it under wraps? It made no sense.
Before I could stop myself, I clicked the printer icon in the top right corner and listened as the machine across the room fired up. I closed out of his computer and grabbed the paper as I hurried out of the room. I didn’t know what I’d uncovered—I had no idea what I was about to find, but I did know I’d found something and I wasn’t about to be the stupid, doting housewife who thinks her husband could do no wrong.
If that was who he thought he’d married, he’d know soon enough how wrong he was.
Chapter Nine
Her
I hid the letter in the bottom of my dresser drawer as I tried to come up with a plan. That night, when Mark arrived home from work, I put on a fake smile as I placed a plate in front of him. It was all I could do to bite my tongue, but it felt like the best plan at the time.