I’d been married to Derek for nine years. We had a daughter, Cora, who was six, and a mortgage in Glenview, and a life I thought I understood completely.
The call lasted four seconds before it cut out. I stood in our kitchen holding a dish towel and told myself it was nothing. A coworker. A friend. Baby meant nothing.
But that night at dinner, Derek said, “Rough day, long drive, I’m wiped.”
“Where’d you end up parking?” I said.
“The usual garage on Wacker.” He didn’t look up from his plate.
He was lying.
I checked our shared location app the next morning while he was in the shower. He’d been on Paulina Street for two hours on Tuesday. We don’t know anyone on Paulina Street.
I drove there on my lunch break Thursday.
A six-floor building. Buzzers with last names. I was scrolling through them when a woman came out – maybe thirty, dark hair, a tote bag from the gym. She held the door for me without thinking.
I went in.
I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw 4C. MERRITT. Derek’s mother’s maiden name.
My hands were shaking when I knocked.
No answer. I stood there for a long minute, then took the elevator down.
I called Derek from the car.
“Hey, you okay?” he said.
“Just checking in,” I said. “Hey, whose maiden name was Merritt again? Someone at work asked about genealogy stuff.”
A pause. Too long.
“Nobody I can think of,” he said. “Why?”
He knew exactly whose name it was.
I went back on Saturday while he was at Cora’s soccer. The woman with the tote bag was at the mailboxes. I walked straight up to her.
“How long have you known Derek Merritt?” I said.
She went completely still.
“I’m his wife,” I said.
She looked at me for a long moment, and then she said, “HE TOLD ME HE’D BEEN DIVORCED FOR THREE YEARS. I have his baby. She’s four months old.”
The door behind her opened, and a man stepped out – not Derek.
“Vanessa,” the man said, “your husband just called. He’s on his way up.”
For more tales of shocking revelations and unsettling encounters, check out My Husband Knew My Best Friend Was Stealing My Life and Said Nothing or discover what happened when My Husband’s Passenger Told My Seven-Year-Old to Deliver Me a Message. And for another story that stops you cold, don’t miss I Called Out a Man in a Parking Lot. What He Said Next Stopped Me Cold.
