“You shouldn’t have come here, Susan,” my husband said, wrapping a white hotel towel around his waist. He did not look nervous. He did not look guilty. He just looked incredibly annoyed, like I had interrupted a business meeting instead of finding him with my younger sister.
Lori was standing behind him, her hands clawing at the collar of her plush hotel robe. Her mascara was smudged, and she was crying, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. On the floor by the king-sized bed, the red patent leather heels sat under the yellow hotel lamp. I stared at them. I remember just standing there staring because my brain genuinely stopped working for a second.
I need to back up for a second. I need to explain the shoes because they are the reason I didn’t turn around and walk out the door.
Those red heels cost me $320. I bought them at the Somerset Collection mall in Troy, Michigan, three months before. It was Lori’s 30th birthday, and she had spent the previous week crying on my kitchen counter about how she was getting older, how she had no money, and how she felt invisible. I was working 60 hours a week running my own medical billing agency from our spare room. I didn’t have money to throw around. I drove a 10-year-old Buick LeSabre with a rusted driver’s side door. But she was my little sister. I wanted her to feel special. I clipped coupons for a month and skipped lunches to buy those shoes.
And now they were sitting on the carpet of Room 412 in Toledo, Ohio.
Dan and I had been married for 12 years. When we met, he was a physical therapist working for a corporate clinic, making pennies. I was the one who pushed him to start his own practice.
I did all the credentialing. I set up the LLC. I spent nights on the phone with insurance companies that didn’t want to pay us. We lived on my income as a medical biller for the first three years so every single dollar his clinic made could go back into buying equipment.
Lori was always around. She lived in a small apartment three miles from our house. Her rent was $900 a month, and she was always short. Dan would shrug and say, “She’s family, Susan. Just write the check. We’re doing well now.” I thought he was being a supportive brother-in-law. I thought he was being generous.
I remember one night, maybe six months ago, we were having dinner in our kitchen. Lori was there, eating the chicken I had cooked. She was talking about how she wanted to find a man who would take care of her. Dan looked at her and said, “You just need to find someone who appreciates how much energy you have, Lori.” I didn’t think anything of it. I was busy washing the pots in the sink. I actually smiled. I felt glad they got along. I feel sick to my stomach now thinking about how stupid I was.
On Friday morning, Dan told me he had a sports medicine seminar in Toledo for the weekend. He left early in his Lexus, the one we bought last year under the business name. By Friday afternoon, I was feeling lonely. I had finished my billing cycle early, and I thought, why not surprise him? I packed a small overnight bag, bought a container of his favorite garlic parmesan wings from the local tavern, and got on the highway.
It was a rainy, grey November afternoon. The drive was four hours of steady drizzle. I was listening to an audiobook, thinking about how happy he would be when I knocked on his door.
I arrived at the Toledo Hilton at around 7:30 PM. The lobby was warm and smelled of stale coffee and carpet cleaner. I walked up to the front desk, smiling at the young girl working there. Her name tag said Sarah.
“Hi, I’m surprising my husband, Dan Carter. He’s checked into room 412,” I said, pulling out my ID.
Sarah smiled back, tapping on her computer. Then her smile faltered a little. “Oh. Mrs. Carter already checked in this morning. She came down and got two extra key cards about an hour ago.”
I didn’t blink. I didn’t gasp. I just stared at her. “Mrs. Carter?” I asked.
