I looked at the folded paper.
Then I looked at the woman sitting across from me.
She seemed to be waiting for me to ask another question.
I had hundreds.
But one came out first.
"Why does the pharmacy bag have my name?"
She took a slow breath.
"Because it was meant for you."
"What's inside?"
"I don't know everything that's in it."
"Then who does?"
"Brad."
I almost laughed again.
Brad.
The man who had spent months telling me he was too busy to talk.
The man who had been preparing for a secret meeting while I stood in the kitchen.
The man whose phone was now lying in our hallway.
Apparently, he had arranged something involving my name.
And somehow Chloe was part of it.
I stood up and walked toward the bag.
This time, I picked it up.
It felt heavier than I expected.
I placed it on the coffee table.
The visitor watched me.
"Should I open it?"
She hesitated.
"I think you should understand why it's there first."
I turned toward her.
"Do you hear yourself? You come into my home, tell me my husband has been hiding something, and then ask me to wait before opening a bag with my name on it."
She lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
I didn't want an apology.
I wanted an explanation.
I opened the folded top of the bag slightly.
I could see packaging inside.
There were pharmacy labels.
A small envelope.
And something that looked like a document.
I stopped.
My name appeared again.
This time, printed neatly on the label.
I felt cold.
"What is this?"
The visitor moved closer.
"Let me see."
I handed her the bag.
She examined the contents without removing everything.
Her expression became serious.
"Did Brad tell you anything about your recent appointments?"
I shook my head.
"What appointments?"
She looked up.
"Nothing?"
"Why would I be asking if I knew?"
She seemed to realize she had said too much.
I took the bag back.
My thoughts were moving too quickly.
I remembered the previous week.
Brad had asked whether I had received any calls from an unfamiliar number.
I'd said no.
He had seemed disappointed.
At the time, I thought it was another work-related problem.
Now I wondered whether it had something to do with this.
I remembered another conversation.
He had asked whether I still kept my personal documents in the bedroom drawer.
I told him I did.
He had nodded and changed the subject.
Small things.
Things I hadn't considered important.
But now they were returning.
I looked at the visitor.
"How long have you known?"
She folded her hands.
"Long enough to know that Brad should have told you himself."
"About Chloe?"
She shook her head.
"About everything."
The room became silent.
I sat down again.
I felt embarrassed.
Not because I had been betrayed.
Because I had allowed myself to believe I knew the whole story when I had only collected pieces.
Still, I couldn't forget the message.
I held up the phone.
"Then explain this."
She read the words again.
"I did exactly what you asked me to do. Now you have to tell your wife the truth."
She sighed.
"Chloe should not have sent that message like this."
"Why?"
"Because it makes everything sound worse."
I stared at her.
"Isn't that what people say when something really is worse?"
She didn't argue.
I placed the phone on the table.
Then I looked at the empty black mug sitting in my memory.
The Best Husband mug.
I had watched Brad finish his coffee that morning.
I had wanted him to suffer.
And now I was sitting in a room where everyone seemed to know something about me that I didn't.
The thought made my face burn.
I wanted to tell the visitor what I had done.
I wanted to confess that the coffee had not been an ordinary cup.
But I couldn't bring myself to say it.
Not yet.
I was afraid of what she would think.
More importantly, I was afraid of what the truth would make me think about myself.
She reached for the folded paper again.
"There's something else you should know."
I looked up.
"What?"
"Brad didn't plan to be gone all morning."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"He expected to come back."
I remembered the open front door.
His phone on the floor.
The pharmacy bag.
"Then why did he leave?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know exactly what happened after he left."
I stared at her.
"Does Chloe know?"
"Yes."
"Where is Brad now?"
"I've been trying to find that out."
My heart started beating faster.
For the first time, I wondered whether the angry shout outside the garage had been more important than I had realized.
I remembered hearing his voice.
The sound had been sudden.
Loud.
Furious.
Then nothing.
I had assumed it was connected to my revenge.
But perhaps I had been wrong.
The visitor looked at me carefully.
"Did anything unusual happen this morning before he left?"
I couldn't answer immediately.
The question seemed to reach straight into the kitchen.
The mug.
The coffee.
The bottle.
My hands.
Brad drinking every drop.
I looked away.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I need to understand what happened."
I swallowed.
Then I looked down at the pharmacy bag.
For the first time, I noticed that the small envelope inside had been addressed to me personally.
Not to Brad.
Not to our household.
To me.
And beneath my name was a date.
A date that made me stop breathing for a moment.
I knew that date.
It was connected to something Brad and I had discussed months earlier.
Something I thought we had both forgotten.
I reached into the bag and carefully removed the envelope.
The visitor didn't stop me.
I turned it over.
There was no return address.
Only a short handwritten message.
"Please let her read this before she makes another decision."
I looked at the woman.
"What decision?"
She didn't answer.
I opened the envelope.
And as I began reading the first line, I realized that the marriage I thought I understood might have been hiding something much more complicated than another woman.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Letter Brad Had Hidden From Me Revealed a Secret That Made Every Suspicious Morning Look Different
I Thought My Husband Was Meeting Another Woman That Morning, Until One Small Detail Made Me Question Everything
Part 4 of 20
