For several seconds, I didn't open the door.
I simply stood there.
My hand rested against the handle.
The person outside waited.
I could see the outline of someone holding a handbag.
My mind raced through possibilities.
Was it someone from Brad's office?
Was it Chloe?
Was it a relative?
I looked back toward the hallway.
Brad's phone was still on the table.
The pharmacy bag was still on the floor.
My name was still written across it.
Nothing had changed.
Except now someone was standing outside our home, and I had no idea what they wanted.
I opened the door.
I couldn't hide my surprise.
The visitor looked at me.
Then she looked past my shoulder.
"Is Brad here?"
I swallowed.
"No. Why?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she studied my face.
It was the kind of look people gave when they were deciding how much of the truth another person could handle.
"Can I come inside?"
I stepped aside.
She entered slowly.
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
Then she saw the phone.
Her expression changed.
"You found it."
I stared at her.
"Found what?"
She looked toward the pharmacy bag.
Then back at me.
"Has Brad spoken to you?"
"No. He's not answering."
She lowered her handbag.
I could hear my own breathing.
"What's going on?"
She seemed uncomfortable.
I had never seen her look that way before.
Usually, she was confident.
Now she looked as though she had rehearsed this conversation and still wasn't prepared to have it.
"I think you should sit down."
I didn't move.
"I asked you a question."
She nodded.
"I know."
I pointed toward the phone.
"There's a message from Chloe. She says she did something Brad asked her to do. What does that mean?"
The visitor looked at the screen.
Her lips tightened.
"She sent that?"
"Yes."
"And you read it?"
"Of course I read it. It's sitting in my house."
She closed her eyes briefly.
I felt my anger rising again.
Everyone seemed to know something except me.
Brad knew.
Chloe knew.
And now this woman knew.
I was the wife.
Yet I was the last person to receive an explanation.
"What is in that bag?"
She looked down.
I followed her eyes.
The pharmacy bag seemed almost ridiculous sitting there.
A plain paper bag.
My name written across it.
I had spent the last two hours imagining an affair.
Now I was standing in my own hallway wondering why someone had brought medication with my name on it.
"Did you bring that?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then who did?"
She hesitated.
"Brad arranged something."
"What?"
She didn't answer.
I took one step toward her.
"Please stop speaking in pieces. I can't understand what you're trying to tell me."
She looked genuinely sorry.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
"Has anyone explained why Chloe was involved?"
"No."
"Did Brad tell you anything about his appointment today?"
"He said it was a business meeting."
She looked down.
I understood that expression.
It was the expression of someone who knew a lie had already been told.
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"Of course."
She didn't respond.
I looked at the phone again.
The message remained open.
I did exactly what you asked me to do.
The words were beginning to feel like a threat.
"What did he ask her to do?"
The visitor finally sat down.
I remained standing.
She placed both hands on her handbag.
Then she said something I hadn't expected.
"Before you make any more assumptions, you need to hear the whole story."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Are you telling me Brad isn't having an affair?"
She looked at me.
She didn't immediately say yes.
She didn't immediately say no.
And somehow that silence told me more than either answer could have.
I remembered the cologne.
The blue shirt.
The tie.
The restaurant receipts.
Every detail returned at once.
I wanted to believe I had misunderstood something.
But I also knew what I had seen.
"Who is Chloe to him?"
The visitor looked toward the phone.
"She's involved in something he should have told you about."
"That isn't an answer."
"I know."
I sat down opposite her.
My knees suddenly felt weak.
For the first time that morning, I wasn't thinking about revenge.
I was thinking about the possibility that I had misunderstood the entire situation.
And that possibility was almost as frightening as discovering an affair.
The visitor reached into her handbag.
She removed a folded piece of paper.
She held it for a moment without passing it to me.
"Did Brad ever tell you he had been trying to arrange something for you?"
I stared at her.
"Arrange what?"
She looked at the pharmacy bag.
Then at the paper in her hand.
"That's why I'm here."
I didn't reach for it.
I couldn't.
I was beginning to understand that the truth was much bigger than the message on Brad's phone.
And whatever it was, it had already brought someone to my front door.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: I Had Spent Months Looking for Evidence of an Affair, but the Paper in Her Hand Pointed Somewhere Else
I Thought My Husband Was Meeting Another Woman That Morning, Until One Small Detail Made Me Question Everything
Part 3 of 20
