I relied on those pills. I couldn’t function without them. And Richard knew that. He was always the one who made sure my prescription was refilled on time.

For fourteen years, I thought we had a good marriage. We didn’t fight much. We drove older cars and saved our money. We rarely went out to eat, preferring to cook at home.

I thought we were just a normal, frugal Midwestern couple. I trusted him with my whole life. I never had a reason to doubt him.

But three weeks ago, everything changed because of a stupid package.

I had ordered a set of new linen curtains for the living room. The tracking number said they were delivered on a Tuesday afternoon, but when I got home from the library, the porch was empty.

Someone had stolen them right off our front steps. It made me feel violated, unsafe in my own home.

So, the next day, I went to the local hardware store. I bought a Ring doorbell camera for $249. It was a lot of money for us, but I wanted peace of mind.

Richard helped me install it. He screwed the little plastic bracket into the doorframe while I connected it to our home Wi-Fi on my phone.

“This is a waste of money,” he grumbled, wiping his hands on a rag. “Nobody is going to steal from us again.”

I didn’t think much of his attitude. He was always tight with money.

For the first two weeks, the camera only captured the mailman and a stray cat that liked to sleep on our welcome mat. I almost forgot about it.

Then, on a Friday morning, I noticed a lag in the notifications. I opened the app to check the history, thinking the battery might be dying.

I scrolled through the footage from the night before.

I saw Richard leave at 10 PM, just like always. The camera captured his truck leaving the driveway.

But then I saw another recording from 11:47 PM.

I watched the screen, my breath catching in my throat. Richard’s truck pulled back into the driveway. He turned off the headlights immediately, leaving the yard in darkness.

He got out of the driver’s seat. He didn’t look like he was in a hurry.

Then, the passenger door opened. A tall woman with long, dark hair and a red wool coat got out.

Richard walked around the truck, took her hand, and led her up the porch steps. They unlocked the front door and went inside.

I sat on our living room sofa, staring at my phone. My chest felt cold, like I had swallowed a block of ice. I couldn’t draw a breath.

I kept watching.

The next recording was at 5:12 AM. The front door opened. The same woman walked out, wrapping her red coat tightly around herself.

Richard followed her to the truck. He kissed her. Not a quick kiss, but a slow, lingering kiss right in front of our camera.

She got into her own car, which must have been parked down the street, because she walked out of the frame. Richard then drove his truck away at 5:30 AM.