My husband was secretly seeing his secretary, and I found proof in the back seat of his car. Instead of confronting him, I sent it to her husband with one note: “You deserve to know.” Hours later, he uncovered bank records revealing an even bigger secret.

“Terrible migraine,” he muttered. “I canceled everything.”

He disappeared into our bedroom and locked the door.

A few minutes later, I remembered that I had left one of the car windows slightly open.

Rain was expected.

I walked into the garage, opened the passenger door, and immediately smelled a heavy, sweet perfume.

I knew that scent.

It was the same perfume that lingered inside the office elevator whenever Brenda stepped out.

Then I noticed something beneath the passenger seat.

Black lace underwear.

For several seconds, I simply stared.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t storm upstairs and throw it at Mark.

Making a dramatic scene would have been easy.

But Crestview Developments was not simply “Mark’s company,” despite the way he had started describing it lately.

We had built that business together from a cramped two-room office in Columbus.

My father, Manuel, had invested nearly all his savings to help us get started.