The room was quiet, save for the hum of the small refrigerator. Twenty-eight years. That's how long he and Pam had shared their lives. But for the past year or so, the life seemed empty, and their house no longer felt like a home.
He faced a harsh but obvious truth: he didn't love his wife anymore. There was something there, he knew, but the past year of ever-increasing rudeness, disrespect, and dismissiveness had dried his love like a barren wasteland. He wanted to love her, but loneliness and bitterness had pushed it all aside.
Paul had asked himself a hundred times, maybe a thousand. When did Pam stop loving him? When did his heart shift from love and anticipation to resentment and avoidance? Their marriage had unraveled not in a fiery explosion but slowly, day by day, leaving him holding a battered wreck.
The dismissiveness had been subtle at first, eye rolls at his jokes, her exasperation when he misremembered details of a story. But over the past year, it had hardened into something worse: contempt. She barely looked at him anymore. Her words, when she bothered to use them, were sharp and clipped. He couldn't recall exactly when she started recoiling in disgust when he got too close to her. It had started subtly and escalated over time. It made him feel invisible and unappreciated.
Divorce. He hated the word. Hated how it tasted on his tongue when he said it aloud to himself, usually in the privacy of his car after a particularly cold encounter. He hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Their history gave him reason to wait and to hope. Twenty-seven happily married years together made the one bad year seem... if not minor, perhaps bearable. And of course he had to think of their kids, extended family, and their friends. The kids were grown now, but still, their feelings mattered to Paul.
Truthfully, most of their friends and family had no idea that things had spiraled so badly. Paul clung to a dwindling hope that they could find their way through these hard times and be great again. But after Susan's visit, he had come to realize that his delusional hopes were misplaced.
Susan had been over for dinner. It wasn't unusual for one or both kids to join them for a meal on weekends, and Paul had made baked salmon with scalloped potatoes. Paul enjoyed making this particular meal, because his kids and Pam all liked it, and it gave him satisfaction to see everyone enjoying something that he made. Michael hadn't been able to make it, but Paul, Pam, and Susan sat together for dinner for the first time in a few weeks, and everyone seemed to enjoy the food.
But it was as if Pam were somewhere else entirely. She spent virtually the entire meal with her phone in her hand, all but completely ignoring both her husband and their daughter.
At one point, Pam got up to use the restroom while Susan and Paul chatted, mostly discussing minor details of Susan's college life.
As they heard the bathroom door shut in the other room, Susan softly said, "I guess we're not exciting enough to hold Mom's attention. If Michael were here, she'd probably be telling some long story right now."
Paul, looking away, said, "She's just quiet tonight. No big deal."
Susan gave a quiet laugh and a small smirk, "If you say so. It's just funny how that only happens when Michael's not around."
Their conversation continued until Pam returned and cleaned up the dishes, leaving the dishes in the sink for Paul to clean up. Pam gave Susan a quick kiss and a smile as she left to go upstairs, not bothering to so much as look at Paul on the way out of the room.
Later, when Paul walked Susan to the door to give her a goodbye hug, Susan said softly, "Dad, can I say something? You might not like it."
Concerned, Paul pulled back a little and asked, "What?"
Susan looked down, as if embarrassed to say what she wants to say, "I just... I think you should keep an eye on Mom. She's been acting kind of strange lately. I don't know what it means, but it feels like something's going on."
Paul's heart lurched. What Susan was saying wasn't a new idea to Paul. Hell, he had privately suspected Pam of having an affair himself. But he had been dismissing his thoughts about it for some time, telling himself that he was overreacting. But if other people, particularly Susan, suspected something, he really couldn't avoid it any longer. He hadn't wanted to think about it. But with his own daughter putting the words out there, Paul felt like he couldn't avoid the topic anymore.
He had been teetering on the fence for months. He'd been reluctant, but if she
was
cheating, it would give him an out. A reason. It might finally be time to rip off the band-aid.
The next day at work, Paul had made plans and preparations. He had purchased a set of hidden cameras from a security consultant friend. Was he paranoid? Maybe. Was he desperate? Definitely. He wanted to believe he was wrong, that Pam was still the woman he'd married, buried somewhere under all the walls she'd built.
But if he was right... well, that made everything simple.
It had taken Paul two days to install the cameras, carefully placing them in the living room, kitchen, and their bedroom. As he worked, he constantly second and third guessed himself and his plans. Did he really want to find anything? Would there be anything to find? What if he was wrong, and Pam just didn't love him anymore?
He reflected on the state of his marriage that he would even consider doing what he was doing. At a certain point, he realized that just deciding to plant hidden cameras meant that his marriage was, in truth, already over. If his feelings and trust had deteriorated this far, then he really didn't have a healthy marriage anymore. Proof or lack thereof was unimportant, but he did want to know.
The next morning, Paul had stood by the front door. As he looked around his house, reflecting, he realized that his marriage was over, whatever he found. Proof of infidelity would be useful to convince others that he was justified in his decision. But the fact of the matter was that he had lost his trust, affection, and hope in their relationship.
Pam had left early, without so much as a goodbye. Typical. It was yet another nail in the coffin of their dead marriage.
With a sharp inhale, he tried to make peace with whatever might come. Whatever happened, happened. He wanted proof, something to show everyone who questioned their failed marriage. But proof or not, he knew that his marriage was over, even if Pam didn't yet know it yet.
And if she wasn't actually having an affair... well, at that point it no longer mattered.
"See you soon," he muttered to no one in particular, the words echoing in the silence. Then he stepped outside, locked the door, and drove away.
Paul sat hunched over the desk in his hotel room, his laptop open. The curtains were drawn against the late afternoon sun, leaving his room dim and quiet. He had been half-expecting to find
something
