It wasn’t until two hours later, with my chai latte going cold and the words on the page blurring, that I decided to check on Eric.
I opened the nanny-cam app we’d installed after a string of neighborhood break-ins. While the footage loaded, a knot formed in my stomach.
When the video finally appeared, my chest seized.
A woman walked into our kitchen — my kitchen — as though she’d been there a hundred times before. Long, glossy brown hair. A fitted cream sweater. Heels clicking across my tiles like a metronome.
She wasn’t cautious. She wasn’t lost. She moved like she belonged there.
Eric followed behind her, smiling.
“Mel,” he said, voice soft.
“This house always smells so good. It’s the cinnamon, isn’t it, babe?”
He slid his arms around her waist like it was habit. She leaned back, tilted her head, and their lips met.
In the café, I sat frozen, staring at my phone like it had betrayed me too.
“Oh, Eric. Where’s the famous turkey? The one your wife thinks you’re cooking for your family dinner? Let’s get it in the oven so we can spend some… time together.”
Eric opened the fridge and pulled out two turkeys.
“This one’s ours. That one’s for tonight.”
“Don’t mix them up,” she laughed. “Your wife is clueless, huh? She actually buys this whole ‘surprise dinner’ thing?”
He shrugged.
“She believes what I tell her, Mel. I’ve never given Cora a reason to doubt me.”
Then he smacked her backside and she squealed.
I closed the app. That woman walked into my home like it was hers — she could have my rage, too.
The silence inside my chest was louder than the entire café. My ears rang. My hands shook. Coffee spilled across the table, soaking the napkins, and I didn’t even flinch.
I walked to my car, pressed my scarf to my mouth, and screamed until my throat burned.
Then I stopped.
This wasn’t going to be a panic story. It was going to be a strategy story.
I steadied my breathing, opened the nanny-cam app again, and calmly screen-recorded the entire scene from start to finish. Then I saved it in three different folders.
Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t going to be a shared meal anymore. It had become a stage, and Eric had no idea he’d already stepped into the role of the fool.
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