After my wife’s miscarriage, I thought we’d try again—have another child.
But she wasn’t ready. The grief of losing our baby still haunted her.
And so, for a year, we didn't touch each other.
I kept waiting—until one day, I picked up her phone, accidentally tapped a chathead, and saw her affair with another guy.
[C’mon, it’s Valentine’s Day! Can’t you spend a special day like this with me? Don’t let him touch you tonight.]
[I even got rid of his baby for you. What more do you need to feel secure? I already bought a new set of lingerie. It should’ve arrived at your place. I’ll wear it for you tomorrow.]
——
That new lingerie… It was sitting on our bed right in front of me.
Just a few minutes ago, I smiled, thinking, ‘Maybe this is it. She’s surprising me for Valentine’s Day!’
When I unboxed it, I thought, ‘Did the store send the wrong package?’
But it wasn’t the store. It was my wife. She’d sent this black lacy lingerie to the wrong address.
I tapped into the Facebook profile of the guy who was supposed to receive the package.
His latest video showed a trip to a hot spring resort.
Ivory was there, in a revealing red swimsuit I’d never seen her before. She was shyly smiling at the camera like she was twenty and in love again.
At the end of the video, the guy reached out, took my wife’s hand, and kissed the back of it.
And on her finger—where her wedding ring should’ve been—was nothing but a pinkish circle mark.
I didn’t realize I was clutching my own ring until my fingers ached.
I scrolled down to see that he had posted another photo—this time showing off a graphics card gamers dream about. A GeForce RTX 4090.
The caption read: [How’d you know my wife got me a 4090?]
Something twisted in my gut; I opened Ivory's Amazon account.
I opened her conversation with a seller. [I don’t know much about graphics cards. Just recommend the best one. It’s Children’s Day—I want to get something nice for my husband.]
The rep suggested a 4090 and added: [Your husband’s one lucky guy!]
Trying to ignore the sting in my chest, I checked her order history.
There it was—the GPU, swimsuits, men’s watches, cologne, even some… sex toys with names I didn’t want to read twice.
They were all shipped to the same apartment complex in South Salt Lake City in Utah.
Same recipient: Dimon Cavanagh.
I closed my eyes and steadied my breath.
Then I went back to their chat and hit “Record.” I wanted to save proof of their affair, every dirty bit of it.
It wasn’t long. It was mostly her arranging to meet him, or him asking when she’d come over. A few crude flirtations scattered in between.
That version of Ivory... That felt like a stranger to me.
In less than ten seconds, I had already airdropped the screen recording file to me, clicked on the Photos app on her phone to delete the recording even on the Recently Deleted folder.
Just as the bathroom door handle turned, I placed her phone back in the nightstand.
Ivory walked out. Her wet hair hung loose over her pale shoulders. The towel clung to her curves.
When she saw the lingerie on our bed, she paused for a moment.
“Oh,” she said. “What a careless mistake! I ordered the simple one, not… that. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“I already opened it,” I said. “I washed it, too, for you. Can’t be returned now, right?”
She blinked in annoyance. “You’re fast. Well… guess I’ll ask for a refund. That’s a bit embarrassing.”
I smiled and reached for her hair. “Or you could just wear it tonight.”
She pulled away. “Don’t mess around. I’m really not in the mood.”
My smile froze. My eyes darkened.
She noticed and quickly took my hand, pressing it to her lower belly.
“Usher, don’t overthink. I just… still haven’t moved on from losing Copper.”
Copper.
The name we gave our baby—the one we never got to meet.
I thought about the messages I’d just read and clenched my hand.
My voice came out low. “Honey, did the doctor ever say what caused the miscarriage?”
I was on a business trip when it happened. By the time I got home, the procedure was already done.
She looked away. “They said it might’ve been placental issues… Usher, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She gave me a soft smile. “We’ll still have a baby someday. I promise.”
“It’s been a year, Ivory. We haven’t touched each other in a year.”
“Just give me a little more time. I’ll get there. Or we could… try IVF. I’ve been researching. It’s safer for the baby. We can even choose the timing, the number, the gender.”
I knew she’d say no, but still—I couldn’t help feeling bitter.
She would rather inject herself with hormones and go through hell than sleep with me.
I nodded. “Alright. We’ll see then.”
Then I grabbed my keys.
“I’m gonna smoke downstairs. I’ll bring you snacks when I come back.”
But I didn’t go to the pantry. I went to the underground garage.
And I hid a voice recorder in her car.
