The bed. No strange smells. Nothing that didn't belong.
The closet. No sign that anyone had gone through it.
The nightstand. Nothing but our usual things.
Even the trash can was spotless. Not a speck of dust.
Everything was exactly the way it always was.
Was I really just overthinking this?
I shook my head and turned to leave the room.
That's when I saw it.
A short strand of bleached-blond hair, lying on the bed.
My hair was black.
This belonged to another man.
The realization hit me like a freight train. My skull buzzed, a high-pitched ringing drowning out every other thought.
I stood frozen, staring at that single strand of yellow hair for what felt like an eternity.
Then I pulled out my phone and scrolled back to the post.
Sure enough. One minute ago, the woman had replied to the comment she'd liked:
"I parked sideways in my husband's spot like you suggested. But he came home and didn't call me to move the car—just walked right in."
"If I hadn't heard the door, if I hadn't made my lover hide in time, I would've been caught."
The original commenter had replied instantly: "Sounds like your husband's got sharp instincts."