Catching Them in My Own House
That night, I watched Stella cook like any other evening. Hair in a loose bun, scrolling her phone between stirring pans. She kissed my cheek, asked about my day, talked about buying Liam new pajamas.
If I hadn’t talked to Liam, I would’ve thought everything was fine.
I barely touched my dinner. Every time I looked at her, my chest tightened. I wanted to confront her on the spot, but something stopped me. Maybe I needed proof. Maybe I didn’t want to blow up our life based on a misunderstanding.
By Wednesday morning, I’d decided.
I went through my usual routine — got dressed, grabbed my keys, kissed Stella, ruffled Liam’s hair — then drove out of the neighborhood… and parked a few streets away.
I’d taken a personal day. Sat in my car for hours, watching the street, nursing cold coffee while delivery trucks passed and neighbors walked their dogs.
At exactly 4:00 p.m., Stella’s car turned onto our street.
Liam’s face was in the back window.
And in the passenger seat? Ethan. Laughing at something Stella said.
They pulled into our driveway like it was the most normal thing in the world. Liam ran inside. Stella and Ethan walked in close, talking quietly.
I waited a minute. Then I got out of my car, walked straight to the house, and opened the front door without knocking.
The voices were coming from down the hallway — our hallway. I followed them to our bedroom. The door was slightly open.
I pushed it fully open.
Stella and Ethan were standing close. Too close. Their faces inches apart.
Then, right in front of me, they kissed. A kiss that looked practiced, familiar, not some one-time mistake.
My voice came out low but sharp: “HOW COULD YOU?”
They jumped apart. Stella’s hand flew to her mouth. Ethan went white.
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