The creeping dread began eating her alive over the next few days. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t paint, and she couldn’t look him in the eye without feeling a wave of nausea. She knew she couldn’t live in the shadows of his lies anymore. She began monitoring his schedule, waiting for the exact moment he would slip up and give her a trail to follow.
The opportunity came the following Thursday when Tom left the house in a sharp, tailored suit—clothing he normally reserved exclusively for high-level corporate boardrooms or formal events. He casually claimed he had an all-day, off-site corporate seminar that required formal attire. Clara nodded quietly, masking the storm brewing inside her. But the moment his SUV pulled out of the driveway, she slipped into her own vehicle.
She followed his car at a safe distance, her heart hammering violently against her ribs with every turn he took. She tracked him all the way into the city’s historic district, watching as he bypassed his office tower entirely and parked near an upscale, secluded cafe known for its private booths and wealthy clientele.