“Isn’t in danger? And why does he look like that, head bandaged up like that? It’s all because of her. Since she set foot in this house, we haven’t had a single day of peace.”
Mrs. Johnson’s voice was still loaded with venom.
I stood silently outside the door, clenching my fists.
Even in a situation like this, she was still finding a way to blame me.
“Shut up for a minute,” shouted Mr. Johnson.
“What if the doctors hear you? Do you think I don’t know about Cairo and Zola? You encouraged them, and now that everything has exploded, you blame Selene. Do you realize how irrational you’re being?”
I was stunned.
My father-in-law knew.
He knew about the relationship between Cairo and Zola.
Then why had he kept silent all this time?
“Me? What did I encourage? I only did it because I felt sorry for Zola. What’s wrong with Cairo taking care of his sister a little? Don’t accuse me unfairly.”
Mrs. Johnson’s voice sounded somewhat guilty.
“Pity?” Mr. Johnson scoffed.
“Look at how she spends money. Designer clothes, the latest cell phone. Where do you think all that comes from? Do you think I’m old and don’t know what’s going on? It’s all Selene’s money.”
“She busts her butt to support this whole house, her husband, and her sister-in-law. And you treat her worse than a stranger. Don’t you think you’re too cruel?”
Every word from my father-in-law was like a hammer blow to my chest.
But it wasn’t pain.
It was astonishment.
In that cold house, there was at least one person who recognized my effort and sacrifice.
Even though he had never said it, he knew.
Mrs. Johnson fell silent.
She probably didn’t expect her husband to say something like that.
After a long moment, she shouted bitterly, “How wonderful, defending her. Is she your daughter-in-law or your daughter? You’re not thinking about this family’s reputation. If this gets out, where will we hide our faces?”
“Reputation.”
Mr. Johnson’s voice was full of sarcasm.
“Did you think about reputation when your son was sneaking into hotels with his sister? Did you think about reputation when you were buying things for your son’s affair with your daughter-in-law’s money? And now you’re ashamed. It’s too late.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a groan from Cairo.
“Dad. Mom, my head hurts so much.”
I heard the sound of a chair moving and hurried footsteps.
I knew I shouldn’t keep listening.
I turned away silently, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
My father-in-law, whom I considered a reserved old-school man, complicit with his wife, turned out to be the only one who understood me.
But why did he choose silence?
Was there some deeper reason?
I headed to Dr. Tate’s office.
I needed to know more about Cairo’s condition.
Dr. Tate was looking at the CT scan images.
Seeing me enter, he gestured to a chair.
“Sit down. I was just about to call you.”
“How is he?” I asked.
“He got lucky,” Dr. Tate said, not hiding a hint of irony.
“Mild concussion, minimal epidural hematoma. With a few days of observation, he can go home.”
“The impact was mainly because he wasn’t wearing his seat belt and his blood alcohol level was quite high.”
No seat belt.
High alcohol level.
Every clue confirmed what I already knew.
They had a night of fun and recklessness, and now they were paying the consequences.
“And the girl?” I asked, forcing myself to maintain an indifferent tone.
“She’s much worse. Besides the ruptured vessel, she has two fractured ribs and a pulmonary contusion. She’ll need to be admitted for at least a couple of weeks. You acted just in time, otherwise the outcome would have been uncertain.”
Dr. Tate looked at me with concern.
“Selene, I know how difficult this is for you, but you have to stay strong. If you need help, tell me.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
I managed a tired smile.
“I’m okay. It’s just that as the treating physician and a family member, I might need to check the belongings of both patients to contact family or find any necessary documents.”
Dr. Tate hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“All right. Technically, it’s against regulations, but in this case, it seems necessary. Go to administration and say I gave you permission.”
I knew I was bending rules.
But I had to do it.
I needed to find out where they had been.
What they had done.
I needed irrefutable proof to end this charade once and for all.
I went to administration.
The charge nurse looked at me with a mix of curiosity and compassion.
She handed me two sealed plastic evidence bags.
One was Cairo’s.
The other Zola’s.
I took them.
They felt strangely heavy.
I didn’t open them immediately.
I took them to the doctor’s lounge where no one was, and locked the door.
I sat down, took a deep breath, and only then slowly opened Cairo’s bag.
Inside was the alligator-skin wallet I had given him for our third anniversary, his latest iPhone with a shattered screen, and a set of keys.
I opened the wallet.
Besides his ID and a few credit cards, I found something that chilled my heart.
It wasn’t a picture of me.
It wasn’t a family photo.
It was a small picture of Zola at Myrtle Beach in a bikini with a radiant smile.
The photo was worn at the edges.
How long had he been carrying it?
I felt a surge of anger and disgust, but I suppressed it.
I put the photo aside and opened Zola’s bag.
Inside there was also a broken cell phone, a designer wallet, and some jewelry.
But when I dumped the contents onto the table, other things spilled out that made my skin go cold.
A hotel room key with the logo of the Serenity Retreat, a luxurious resort just outside Charlotte, North Carolina.
A small box of emergency medication.
And a receipt.
I picked up the receipt.
The numbers and letters on it seemed to dance before my eyes.
It was an invoice for a two-day, one-night stay in the presidential suite with additional services like wine, a romantic candlelight dinner, and a couple’s spa package.
The total came to nearly $3,000.
$3,000.
And the payer was Cairo Johnson.
Now everything was too obvious.
Everything was exposed.
Not only were they meeting in secret, they were going on romantic getaways with my money.
While I was wearing myself out with shifts and family worries, they were living like a real married couple.
I sat there amid the evidence of betrayal.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t scream.
I only felt a terrifying emptiness.
But in that void, an idea, a plan began to germinate.
They had taken so much.
They had hidden so much.
And I knew this was only the beginning.
I sat motionless in the doctor’s lounge.
The cold fluorescent light illuminated the evidence scattered across the table.
The resort receipt.
The medication.
The photo.
Every object seemed to shout, mocking my stupidity of the last five years.
I had thought the greatest pain was seeing them together.
But no.
The greatest pain was realizing that the deception had been meticulously planned, executed behind my back, and financed with the money I earned.
I no longer felt pain.
Only an icy rage that seeped into my bones.
I wasn’t going to let this end so easily.
They had hurt me too much.
They had to face a commensurate price.
I carefully gathered everything, and with my phone I photographed every detail.
I knew these would be my sharpest weapons in the battle ahead.
I wasn’t going to make a scene.
I wouldn’t show them my anger.
I would continue playing the role of the compassionate wife, the generous sister-in-law.
I would let them gloat.
Let them drop their guard.
And when they least expected it, I would deliver the final blow.
I deleted all the photos I had just taken from the gallery and moved them to a password-protected hidden folder.
Then I returned the two bags of belongings to administration, saying I hadn’t found any useful information.
I had to erase every trace.
No one could know that I knew everything.
I returned to Cairo’s room.
Mrs. Johnson was still sitting there with a sour expression.
Mr. Johnson was silently reading the newspaper.
Seeing me enter, Mrs. Johnson eyed me sideways, then turned her head.
I didn’t say anything either.
I quietly approached the bed and checked Cairo’s IV.
He was still asleep.
His breathing was regular.
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