“No.”
I've never checked Marcus' phone. We knew the passwords, or so I thought.
I took his phone from the counter and introduced the six-digit code I had known for years.
It didn't work.
“When did you change your password?”
“A while ago.”
“Why?”
“Security.”
My phone vibrated again.
Another message appeared from the unknown number.
“If he tells you it’s just Olivia, ask him about Thursdays.”
Something inside me was froze. “What’s up on Thursdays?”
Marcus opened his mouth, but no word came out.
For months, Marcus had justified his Thursday night with a permanent project review, arriving home often around 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m.
I've never questioned him.
“Tell me about Thursdays,” I said.
Marcus sat down. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What am I thinking?”
He rubbed his face with both hands.
“I made a mistake.”
I felt a knot in my stomach. “With Olivia? Your co-worker?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“How long?”
“It was not a relationship.”
“How long?”
“A few months.”
There was the answer, or so I thought.
Marcus said he had been stressed, that Olivia understood the pressure at work and that they had crossed a boundary.
He insisted that he had ended three weeks earlier.
My heart was hurting. “Why? How could you do this to me?”
“Because I realized what I was risking.”
My phone vibrated again.
“He’s going to tell you that he made a mistake. Don’t believe him.”
There was an address underneath.
Then another line.
“Come only at 6:00 p.m. if you want to know the whole truth.”
I read it twice.
Marcus stood up. “What does it say?”
I denied with my head. “It’s not something you should know.”
“Danielle.”
I went up the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To dress me.”
“What about the work?”
I looked at him. “I think today we both have more important problems.”
For the rest of the morning, Marcus followed me everywhere, apologizing.
She admitted to sleeping with Olivia and claimed that she became angry after he ended the relationship.
By noon, her story had become almost too perfect: a love affair, an angry woman, a terrible mistake.
Then I remembered the message.
“If he tells you it’s just Olivia...”
Those last two words were recorded: only Olivia.
I left home at 5:42 p.m.
Marcus asked me where I was going, and I told him I needed space.
The address took me to a quiet cafe about 20 minutes away.
When I came in, a woman near the bottom stood up.
Six other women were sitting next to her.
Each and every one of them stared at me.
For a second, I thought I was wrong to site.
Seven women were sitting around two tables. Some looked angry and another avoided my gaze.
The woman who had stood pointed to an empty chair.
“Danielle?”
“Yes.”
“I Am Tessa.”
I felt my legs weak when I sat down.
“What is this?”
Tessa looked at the others. “We feel it.”
“Sorry why?”
“For how you found out.”
I looked from one face to another. “Did you find out what?”
Tessa left her phone on the table.
“Marcus told you about Olivia, didn’t he?”
I didn't answer.
“He always admits to being the person you’ve already discovered,” she said.
My stomach turned. “What does that mean?”
Tessa opened a folder with screenshots. Marcus's name and photograph were on top.
I recognized the shirt in his profile picture because he had bought it for his birthday.
He was reviewing restaurant plans, flirty messages and photos that I didn’t want to see.
Then I noticed the dates.
They went back almost 18 months.
“This is not Olivia,” I whispered.
“No,” said Tessa. That's me.
I stared at her.
“Did you... you had an affair with my husband too?” Every revelation hit me like a wave.
“One of them.”
“One of what?”
The woman in front of me answered.
“The women Marcus has been dating.”
I looked around the table again.
It was seven.
“No.”
Tessa picked up the phone. “Keep scrolling.”
It hurt, but I couldn't bear not knowing the whole truth. So I did.
There were messages with Tessa, Brooke and Olivia.
A woman met him during an alleged lecture. Another met him near his office.
It wasn't just a romance.
Marcus had built a whole second life.
“He told me he was separated,” Tessa said.
“Me too,” Brooke added. “He said they were still living together because they were fixing the house.”
I closed my eyes. “How did everyone get to know each other?”
“Olivia.”
Olivia began to suspect that Marcus refused to spend weekends with her, to invite her home or to sleep unless she was supposed to be on a trip.
Finally, he found a photograph of a charity event in which Marcus and I appeared labeled together.
The photos of our anniversary and our vacation were public.
There was no separation.
Olivia confronted Marcus, and he told her that her marriage was “complicated.”
Then he stopped answering him.
Instead of leaving, she looked for signs that there might be other women.
She found Tessa first.
Tessa found Brooke.
After that, the pattern became too obvious to ignore.
The routine consisted of Thursday nights, meetings until late, gym sessions and business trips that, for some reason, began a day earlier than necessary.
“This has been going on for years,” Tessa said quietly.
“How many?”
No one answered.
“How many women?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then why are you seven?”
“Because we are the seven that we could verify.”
Suddenly, the change of password on his phone made sense.
The same thing happened with every Thursday he ate alone, with every flight delayed and with every night message he dismissed as work.
“But the lingerie,” I said.
Tessa seemed embarrassed.
“That was Olivia’s idea.”
“Did you cover the car?”
“We all did it.”
