The images were dark and grainy.
Then I recognized Marcus' car.
I was parked in front of a downtown restaurant I knew.
The time stamp indicated 22:47 the previous Friday.
Marcus had told me he had been working late that night.
In the video, he came out of the driver's side.
A woman came on the scene and walked straight to him.
Marcus surrounded her with his arms.
Then the video stopped.
There was no kiss, no conversation, no explanation.
There was only that hug.
Behind me, Marcus asked, “What are you seeing?”
I blocked the screen.
Who were you with Friday night?
His expression remained motionless. “What?”
“On Friday. You said you worked late that night.”
“I Did.”
Who were you with after?
His eyes turned to my phone.
“Danielle, what did they send you?”
“They?”
Marcus said nothing.
That word shocked me more than I should.
“They?” I repeated.
“I meant whoever did this. What are they trying to prove?”
“No. You said ‘they.’”
“Because obviously someone did this.”
He gestured to the car. “You are twisting my words.”
After 11 years of marriage, I already knew what Marcus sounded like when he wanted to buy time.
I was doing it now.
“Who was the woman?”
“What woman?”
I unlocked my phone and played the video again.
Marcus watched in silence. He squeezed his jaw when the woman showed up.
“That’s nothing,” he said.
“You embraced her.”
“Embrace people.”
“At almost 11 p.m., outside a restaurant, after telling your wife you were working?”
He exhaled. “I know her for work.”
“Name?”
He hesitated.
“My name is Marcus.”
“Olivia. Her name is Olivia. It was for work.”
I've never heard of Olivia.
“What does she do?”
“She works as a consultant for one of our suppliers.”
“So why didn’t you tell me you met her?”
“Because it was not dinner.”
“What was it?”
“A meeting.”
At 10:47 p.m.?
“We were finished late. That’s it.”
I looked at the car again. A red lace bra was hooked to one of the windshield wipers, and a black one hung from the driver's mirror.
This was no coincidence.
“Why would someone cover your car in underwear because you hugged a coworker?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming your favorite phrase.”
Marcus rubbed his face.
“Danielle, we’re outside, right in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“Then let’s go into the house and give me all the answers.”
I walked back into the house and he followed me.
Once the door was closed, the silence became even more unbearable.
We had lived there for six years, chose together the kitchen tiles, organized Christmas dinners and complained about the mortgage.
Until that morning, I had thought that our marriage was normal in the best possible sense. Not perfect, but stable.
“Give me your phone,” I said.
Marcus stared at me. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. “Why not?” I asked.
“Because this is ridiculous.”
“Someone covered your car in women’s underwear and sent me a video of you with a woman you’ve never talked about.”
“I explained it to him.”
“You gave me your stack name after I asked you twice.”
He denied with his head. “I’m not going to turn in my phone just because some crazy guy is trying to create trouble between us.”
“Then unlock it yourself.”
