The car was a brand new red Mustang with a black canvas. The engine roared from across the parking lot as it pulled up. I threw my car into park and cut it off, leaning down towards my steering wheel as if they could see me. I waited for someone to get out of the car, but they never did. Instead, he got out of his car and got into their's.
The car began to back up, so I turned mine on and that was when my phone began to buzz violently.
Emerson's phone is unable to be located.
"Fuck!" I shout. I look up to see the car pulling out onto the street. I pull out of the parking lot and slowly creep onto the road behind them. Surprisingly to me, there was a good bit of traffic. I had been following my husband for a good 15 minutes and had already lost them twice.
I followed them onto the interstate. The sun was just coming up and I could see their windows were not tinted. I pressed harder on the gas to speed up beside them and catch him red handed. I got to 85 mph and almost got to the back of their car when a red light switched. I slammed on my breaks as they raced through the light.
"No!! No, no, no! Ugh!" I slammed my fists into the steering wheel multiple times and ran my hands through my hair, trying to hold back my tears. The light turned green and I made a U-turn and headed back home.
I was so close.If I would have just ran the light, I would have caught him. It would have been over. The wondering where he is and the overthinking. I could have known if he was with a woman or not.
Tears stream down my face as I pull into my driveway. I walk inside of my house and stop in the doorway. I look around the living room that I was standing in front of.
There has to be some way. He has to have some proof somewhere.
I run to his dirty clothes and search through all of them. I pulled out slacks that had no stains. I pulled out jeans that had dirt on them. I pulled out boxers and socks. Still, no stains. But, there were no shirts. There was not one shirt in the basket. I stand up, leaving the clothes scattered over the floor and run to the laundry room. I open the washer to see a load full of shirts. I stop the run, and pull one out.
I examine the collar and see that it is stained with foundation on the collar and shoulder. This time, I just let the tears come.
Maybe he hugged a coworker or an elder lady and makeup got on his shirt.
I stand up and grab another shirt. There was foundation on the chest. I held the shirts up to each other and match the foundation color. Exactly the same shade.
I scream and throw the shirts back at the washing machine. I kick it and turn around slamming my fists onto the wall, shrieking due to the pain that it caused.
I slide down the wall and sit there, staring into the distance. I cried and screamed and sobbed for hours until, finally, I slumped over and fell asleep.