\nThe expensive Jo Malone perfume I found in David\u2019s car trunk last month, which he claimed was a surprise Christmas gift for me. Chloe wore that exact scent.<\/p>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n
I checked the time on the bottom right of the computer screen: 7:30 PM.<\/b><\/p>\n
Their flight was leaving in less than three hours. LAX was forty-five minutes away.<\/p>\n
I didn’t cry. The shock was too absolute, too freezing, to allow for tears. Instead, a dangerous, burning clarity took over. I pulled out my phone and called Chloe.<\/p>\n
It went straight to voicemail. \u201cHi, you\u2019ve reached Chloe! Leave a message!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
I called David. It rang three times before going to his automated work greeting. They were already at the airport. Probably in the international first-class lounge, sipping complimentary champagne, celebrating their grand getaway while I sat in the house we bought together.<\/p>\n
The Airport Confrontation<\/h2>\n
I didn’t plan what I was going to do. I just threw on a trench coat over my sweatpants, grabbed my purse, and keys.<\/p>\n
The drive to LAX was a blur of red taillights and blinding adrenaline. I parked in the Terminal B parking structure, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Because I didn\u2019t have a boarding pass, I knew I couldn’t get through TSA security to the gates. But I knew exactly where the Lufthansa premium check-in counters were.<\/p>\n
I walked into the bustling international terminal, my eyes scanning the sea of travelers.<\/p>\n
And then, I saw them.<\/p>\n
They weren’t at the counter; they were standing near a large pillar just before the security line. David had his arm draped casually around Chloe\u2019s waist. She was laughing, her head tilted back, wearing a chic beige travel outfit. He looked at her with a soft, adoring expression I hadn’t seen directed at me in three years.<\/p>\n
I walked toward them, my footsteps echoing in my own ears.<\/p>\n
“Beautiful night for a flight to Venice,” I said, my voice cutting through the terminal noise.<\/p>\n
They both froze. David\u2019s arm dropped from Chloe\u2019s waist as if he had been burned. Chloe\u2019s face drained of color so fast I thought she might faint.<\/p>\n
“Olivia?” David stammered, his eyes darting around the terminal as if looking for an escape hatch. “What\u2014what are you doing here? I’m supposed to be flying out of the domestic terminal for Munich…”<\/p>\n
“Cut the crap, David,” I said, stepping closer. I pulled out my phone and held up the screenshot of the Lufthansa email. “The iMac synced. Seat 4A and 4B. Venice. Tonight.”<\/p>\n
The Exposure<\/h2>\n
Chloe took a step back, her hands trembling. “Olivia, please, it\u2019s not what it looks like\u2014”<\/p>\n
“Don’t,” I snapped, pointing a finger at her. The sheer betrayal from the woman I considered a sister stung worse than any action of David’s. “Don’t you dare say a single word to me. You sat on my couch last week and listened to me complain about how much I missed my husband.”<\/p>\n
David tried to step between us, his professional, boardroom persona attempting to take over. “Olivia, let’s go home and talk about this. We can sort this out. I’ll cancel the trip.”<\/p>\n
“Oh, you’re definitely canceling the trip,” I said, a cold smile spreading across my face. “But I’m not going home with you.”<\/p>\n
I reached into my purse. I hadn’t just driven to the airport; I had stopped by David\u2019s filing cabinet before I left. I pulled out a heavy manila folder and dropped it onto the top of his expensive Rimowa carry-on bag.<\/p>\n
The Cost of a “Business Trip”<\/h3>\n