I would quietly gather our clothes scattered across the floor and toss them into the washing machine. Out of habit, I always checked the pockets before washing.
One night, I pulled out a bottle of unsealed folic acid.
That bottle alone turned me into Sherlock Holmes.
I secretly went through Jasper's phone, and what I found confirmed everything: endless chat logs with Bianca.
Shopping records showed luxury goods worth millions. Credit card records showed a house and a luxury car—all bought for her.
Like every cheating man, he drowned his mistress in endless indulgence.
And when I had broken my leg in the mountains, begging him to drive me to the hospital, he was busy taking Bianca up to the Rockies to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom, swearing eternal love to her in flowery vows.
When I was bent under the weight of my mother-in-law, caring for bedpans and cleaning up after her in the hospital, he was with Bianca in Paris, renting the most expensive love suite, hiring ten servants, never leaving the room for a month, proudly recording how they had unlocked 108 different positions.