Chapter 3

The drive home was a silent, agonizing blur. The radio was off. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the frantic, replaying loop of the last hour in my head. Sarah kneeling. The relatives' praise. Mark' s casual, obscene request. It was a horror movie I couldn't turn off.

As I drove through the familiar streets, my mind kept drifting back, re-examining the last few months, the last few years, through this new, horrifying lens. Every memory was now tainted, every interaction suspect.

I thought about all the times I had worked late, pushing myself at my job to build a comfortable life for us, for our future. I remembered coming home, exhausted, to an empty house. Sarah would call and say she was having a "work dinner" with her colleagues. More often than not, she' d mention Mark was there too, that their companies were collaborating on a project. I never thought twice about it. He was my best friend, she was my wife. I trusted them. I was a fool.

There was that one time, about six months ago. I came home from a business trip a day early to surprise her. I found a men' s leather jacket slung over the back of our dining room chair. It wasn' t mine. When I asked her about it, she laughed it off.

"Oh, that' s Mark' s," she' d said, not missing a beat. "He came over to help me fix the leaky faucet under the sink. You know how useless I am with that stuff. He must have forgotten it."

She had praised me then, for being such a good friend to Mark, for having a friendship so strong that he would drop everything to help us. She' d made me feel proud. Now, the memory made me sick. I had probably paid for the dinner they had together that night, using the credit card from our joint account. I had not only been betrayed, I had financed my own humiliation.

My generosity, my trust, my complete and utter blindness had not just been taken for granted, it had been used as a tool to facilitate their affair. I had created the perfect environment for them to betray me.

I pulled into my driveway, the house dark and silent. As I cut the engine, another car pulled up behind me, its headlights flashing in my rearview mirror. It was Mark.

He got out of his car and walked towards me, his face etched with a pathetic sort of concern.

"Liam, wait up," he called out.

I got out of my car and faced him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

"What do you want, Mark?"

"Man, I' m sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I know this is messed up. But these are special circumstances. My dad..."

"Don' t," I cut him off, my voice sharp as glass. "Do not use your dying father as an excuse for what you did. You think this started last week? You think I' m that stupid?"

Before he could answer, the front door of his parents' house down the street flew open, and his aunt, the boisterous one from the party, came marching across the lawn towards us. She was a storm of righteous fury.

"There you are!" she shouted, pointing a finger at me. "How dare you! How dare you come here and ruin my brother' s birthday! He' s a sick man! He could have had a heart attack because of you!"

I just stared at her, too drained to even argue. The absurdity was breathtaking. I was the villain. I was the one at fault for discovering my wife and best friend' s elaborate deception.

"You have no idea what you' re talking about," I said flatly.

"I know that you' re a cruel, heartless bastard!" she shrieked, her face red with anger. "Sarah is a sweet girl, and you just broke her heart!"

Just then, Sarah herself appeared, hurrying over from Mark' s house. She ran to the aunt' s side, clutching her arm and sobbing. It was a masterful performance.

"Auntie, please, don' t," she cried. "It' s my fault. I shouldn' t have pushed him."

The aunt wrapped a protective arm around Sarah, glaring at me. "You see? You see what you' ve done?"

I looked at the three of them-Mark, the silent coward; his aunt, the ignorant mouthpiece; and Sarah, the master manipulator. They were a perfect, toxic little family.

I let out a cold, humorless laugh.

"You know what? You' re right," I said, my voice filled with a chilling certainty. I looked directly at Mark. "You' d better take good care of her. Treat her well."

I paused, letting the words hang in the air. Then I looked at Sarah, who was still pretending to cry.

"Because a woman who can lie to her husband for months, who can fake an injury and a trip to another continent without batting an eye, who can perform for a room full of strangers... that' s not a woman you want to get on the wrong side of."

I turned to the aunt.

"I really hope for your sake, and for Mark' s, that she doesn' t get bored and decide to find a new best friend to 'help' out."

With that, I turned my back on them, walked to my front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside, shutting them out of my house and my life. The sound of the lock clicking into place was the most satisfying sound I had heard all day.