I was going to love that woman until the day I died. And I had—thirty-eight years of loving her. And now I was lying next to her, suspecting something I could barely bring myself to say out loud.
At 2:30 she stirred. I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I heard her get up carefully, pull on her robe, cross the room, open the door quietly—and leave.
I pulled my phone from under the pillow and opened the app. The screen lit up. The hallway was empty for a second. Then Susan came into view in her old blue robe, barefoot.
She walked to Mike’s door and knocked softly. The door opened almost at once. Mike stood there in a T-shirt and gym shorts.
I couldn’t see his face clearly—the camera angle was too high. They whispered for a moment. Then he stepped back. She went in, and the door closed.
I stared at that closed door on my screen and felt everything inside me go cold. There it was. Proof. My wife was going into my son-in-law’s room in the middle of the night while our daughter was out of town.
What else could they possibly be doing in there? Talking? About what? I tried to come up with some innocent explanation, but nothing came.
They weren’t discussing chili recipes at 2:30 in the morning. Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. I watched the time stamp in the corner of the screen, and every minute felt like an hour.
Finally the door opened and Susan came out. This time I got a better look at her face: tired, but oddly calm. She adjusted her robe and walked back down the hall.
The camera caught her from behind until she disappeared from frame. A minute later she was back in bed beside me, as if nothing had happened. I lay awake until morning, staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe, wondering what I was supposed to do next.
Start a fight? Throw them both out? File for divorce? I was 63 years old. Was I really going to start over now?
And maybe—just maybe—I was still reading it wrong. Maybe Mike was having some kind of breakdown and Susan was honestly trying to help. But if that was true, why the secrecy? Why the middle of the night? Why not tell me?
At breakfast, I watched them both. Susan was frying eggs, humming like always. Mike came into the kitchen looking rumpled, still in the same T-shirt, poured himself coffee, and nodded at me.
“Morning, Victor.” “Morning,” I muttered. He sat down and looked at his phone.
Susan set a plate in front of me and smiled. “Eat before it gets cold.” I looked at the eggs and knew I had no appetite.
Still, I picked up my fork and ate in silence. Susan glanced at Mike. Just for a second. He glanced back. I caught it.
There was some understanding between them. Some private connection. And I wasn’t part of it. “Susan,” I said, setting down my fork, “Katie called yesterday. Asked how Mike was doing.”
I was lying. Katie hadn’t called. I just wanted to see how they reacted. Susan stiffened. I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “Oh? And what did you tell her?”
“I told her everything seemed fine. Everything fine, Mike?” He looked up from his phone. Pale face, dark circles under his eyes.
“Yeah. Fine. Just a lot of work.” “Not sleeping much?” I asked, and the room went still. He swallowed.
“Some nights are rough.” “Then maybe go to bed earlier,” I said flatly. “No point tossing and turning all night.”
Susan jumped in fast. “Victor, don’t get on him. He’s got deadlines. Big project.” “That’s right,” Mike said, grateful.
I looked at both of them and thought: they’re in this together. They’re hiding something from me, and it’s not just work stress. It’s something else.
That afternoon I watched the footage again. Then again. I kept looking for details, but all the camera gave me was the hallway and the door. Nothing more. I needed more information.
I thought about putting a camera in Mike’s room, but even I knew that was too far. Besides, he was home all day. I’d never get the chance. So I decided on something else.
The next night, when Susan went in there, I’d sneak up to the door and listen. Maybe I’d hear enough to figure it out. Risky, sure. If they caught me, I’d look like a lunatic. But by then I was past caring.
So the sixth night came. I waited, wound tight as piano wire. Susan fell asleep quickly, probably worn out from being on her feet all day.
I lay there counting the minutes. At 2:25 she stirred, got up, put on her robe, and left. I waited a minute, then got up too.
Quietly, on the balls of my feet, I moved into the hallway. Mike’s door was cracked open this time. Maybe Susan hadn’t shut it all the way. A dim desk lamp was on inside.
I moved closer, pressed myself against the wall beside the door, and held my breath. Then I heard Mike’s voice. Low, but clear enough: “I can’t keep doing this, Susan.”
“This is killing me.” “Shh, easy,” Susan said in that calm voice of hers. “I know. But you have to hang on.”
“For how long? It’s been a year and nothing’s changed.” “It will,” she said. “I promise. It just takes time.”
“And if Katie finds out? If Victor finds out? Then what?” There was a pause. I stood there with my fingers digging into the wall, my heart pounding so hard I thought they’d hear it.
“Victor won’t find out,” Susan said firmly. “I’ll make sure of that. And Katie… Katie isn’t ready to know.”
“But this affects her more than anyone.” “Exactly why she’s not ready,” Susan said. “Trust me.” Then silence…
