While driving to work, I noticed droplets of liquid clinging to the car windows. Touching them, I found the texture slightly sticky, and they carried a faint fruity scent.
I never use anything like this, so I called my husband. "Did you spray some air freshener in the Porsche? Why does it smell like fruit?"
On the other end of the line, he hesitated for just a second before offering a sincere explanation. "Remember that class reunion I went to? One of my buddies drank too much and threw up in the car. I didn’t want you to be upset, so I sprayed some perfume to cover it up."
After hanging up, I grabbed a cloth and wiped the car windows clean.
On the passenger seat, two strands of golden curly hair were stuck to the sticky residue.
Frowning, I rolled my eyes. Tsk. His “buddy” was sexier than me.
——
I own several luxury cars, all gifts I bought for myself before getting married. After our wedding, my husband, Miguel, never purchased a car of his own. If he needed one, he’d just ask me for the keys.
However, I had specifically reminded him that I needed the Porsche this week for some business engagements. I even had it professionally cleaned beforehand. Yet here it was, dirty again after just one outing.
Frustrated, I frowned at the sticky streaks on the car window, feeling increasingly uneasy. I had met all of Miguel’s friends before—they were typical engineering types, each more awkward than the last. At their age, they were either balding or wearing wigs—none of them would dye their hair blonde. And at this length? They could pass for an idol.
Could Miguel be cheating on me?
The thought surfaced but I quickly dismissed it. Miguel was the head of pediatrics at a local private hospital. His schedule was packed with appointments, leaving him little time for anything else.
He even always said, “Time is life. Wasting even a minute means one more patient losing hope.”
Besides, our daughter was hospitalized at the same facility. I visit her regularly, bringing supplies and checking in often. If Miguel wasn’t working, he was with our daughter watching cartoons.
A man so dedicated to his family and job couldn’t possibly have time for an affair. Still, I couldn’t ignore the golden hair strands clinging to my cloth.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the car’s dash cam recordings.
To my surprise, the footage from the past few days was completely erased. The phrase covering one’s tracks flashed through my mind.
Then I remembered the camcorder I had taken to a recent exhibition—it was still in the car, likely left on by mistake.
When I powered it up, the battery was dead. After plugging it in to charge, I immediately checked the footage. Luckily, the recording was intact.
Skipping to the day Miguel had driven the car, two figures soon appeared on the screen: Miguel and an unfamiliar man.
My nerves eased as I realized I might be overreacting. Tossing the camcorder aside, I was about to start the engine when Miguel’s voice caught my attention.
“We’re doctors, not lawyers, so I thought I’d ask you since we’re meeting today. I remember you dealt with a tough divorce case for a while, right?”
Clearing his throat, he continued, “Hypothetically speaking, if the wife isn’t at fault, is there a way to ensure she walks away with nothing after the divorce?”
“I’m just asking casually—don’t read into it. A friend of mine has been having marital issues recently,” Miguel added defensively.
The man in the passenger seat burst out laughing, then replied, “Classic line—‘asking for a friend’? Bro, you’re acting suspicious.”
“We’re close, right? Just tell me the truth. You’re cheating and you want a divorce, but don’t want to part with your money, am I right?” The man smirked. “Though, if I remember correctly, weren’t you the one who chased after Sherry in the first place? Now you’re done with her?”
“And if I’m not mistaken, isn’t this car hers too? With such great conditions, sometimes love isn’t essential—we’re all adults here. You know what I mean, don't you?”
