For five years, my wife’s monthly “girls-only” dinners had been just another routine in our marriage.

She’d dress up—hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless, wearing an outfit that made her look like she was walking into a five-star restaurant. I used to tease her about it. “*You’re dressing up more for these girls than you do for me!*”

She’d just laugh. “*You know how girls are, babe.*”

And I never questioned it. No red flags. No reason to doubt her.

Until **last week**.

She left as usual, kissing me goodbye before heading out. A couple of hours later, my phone buzzed with a text.

I glanced at the screen.

**A message from an unknown number.**

It read:

*”I know you don’t know me, but you need to come to The Belmont Hotel. Now.”*

A cold chill ran down my spine.

I re-read the message, my stomach twisting. *Was this a prank? A mistake?* But something *felt* off.

I grabbed my keys and drove.

When I arrived at the hotel, I felt ridiculous—until I stepped into the lobby. That’s when I saw her.

My wife.

Not at a dinner.

Not with friends.

She was in the hotel bar, sipping wine… and sitting **way too close** to a man in a suit.

My throat went dry.

I watched as he leaned in, whispering something that made her giggle—**the same giggle she used on me when we first started dating.**

Then, she placed a hand on his knee.

My vision blurred.

My pulse roared in my ears.

And before I knew what I was doing, I took out my phone and **snapped a picture.**

The second the camera clicked, my wife’s head snapped up.

Her eyes met mine.

She went *pale*.

The man turned to see what had startled her.

And I?

I simply held up my phone, showing her the proof. Then, without a word, I walked away.

I didn’t need to stay.

**She knew exactly what that meant.**