Photos. Hundreds of them. I found them in a hidden album on my husband’s computer. Except they weren’t of sunsets or cityscapes. They were of her—the same woman I’d given the camera to.
There were also messages, long ones, detailing their “secret meetups” and how he was planning to leave me once their “situation” improved.
Turns out, she wasn’t some stranger in need. She was his mistress. And that camera? It wasn’t for her husband. It was for him.