âWhat are you doing, where am I supposed to go in the middle of the night?â She blurted out. âI really donât care, why donât you go back to your lover?â I snapped back at her.
I closed the lid of her suitcase packed with her stuff and threw it towards the main door. She frowned, made a disgusted face at me and then stormed out of the house collecting her suitcase. I was worn out from all the errands I had to run that day and headed to the minibar I had established in my 3-bedroom house in Brecksville, a suburb in Greater Cleveland. I poured myself half a glass of Buffalo Trace, avoiding any ice. As I took a sip, I reflected on the events of the fateful day that had just occurred. I laughed at the eerie nature of the coincidence. It was by pure chance that I had caught her affair.
(My name is Michael Brooks. My wife Claire and I have been married for 4 years and have been together for about 7 years. We both are 29 and donât have any kids yet. We havenât really thought about it. I think our life was great. We are happy and content. We are both working professionals. Claire does most of the house chores, though, I try my best to lend a hand every now and then. She gets a Friday night out every other week. I love that hard-working woman.)
I was out on a lunch meeting with a potential client at the Hilton hotel downtown. It was a slow day. The hotel wasnât crowded. I was glad that the meeting went so well. I was approaching my car at the parking lot when I saw my wife holding hands with a man who I never recalled to be ever a part of our mutual circle of friends. They were approaching the hotel entrance gate. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I was bewildered and rather curious at the site. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that my wife is having an affair with this strange man she is holding hands with.
The immediate curiosity in my head stopped me from confronting them and I quickly hid behind a nearby Volkswagen Tiguan when they passed by me. I stood behind the convertible for a few seconds and tried to pinch my arm to make sure it wasnât a dream. The bitter realization broke my trance to an adrenaline rush and I quickly followed them back to the hotel.
As I entered the lobby, I saw they were headed towards the elevator. Before I could reach the elevator door, it had already taken off. I read the floor number on the screen and quickly strode upstairs. I reached the third floor; the hall was deserted and I couldnât locate my wife and her supposed lover anywhere. I was in two minds whether to go back to the front desk and enquire or to go and knock each room on the third level. I decided against both as none of them were really going to be helpful. So, I took out my phone and rang my wifeâs number. The call went to voicemail. I felt helpless and agitated. Then, I saw a waiter carrying a bottle of champagne on a table cart. I noticed that a 302-number tag was hanging on the side. I had no base or evidence to link this champagne to my wifeâs room but at that moment I really did not have any other leads and decided to follow the waiter. As he knocked the door number 302, the same stranger I saw with my wife earlier, emerged out of the room and the waiter went in. I quickly followed on my heels and waited outside the hall. The waiter was inside for about 5 minutes and then he came out. I waited at the hall until the waiter left and then glued my ear to the door of room 302. I was hoping to hear some conversation but all I could hear was loud hip-hop music. I had no way to get inside without knocking and confronting them. I didnât want to do that.
Running out of options, I decided bursting inside the room is the only choice I have. I knocked on the door with a loud thud. A strangerâs voice blurted out angrily, âWhat the fuck do you want? I said we donât want to be disturbedâ.
I said nothing and continued to knock on the door. The stranger cursed angrily and then opened the door. His face was directly at my eyesight. He was about the same height as I, shirtless and had almost visible abs. The angry expression on his face suddenly turned to that of horror. He must have recognized me, albeit, I didnât recall seeing him ever in my life.
He stepped back and whispered in a low voice, âClaire, your husband is here.â My wife of 4 years ran towards us and froze at the sight when her eyes met mine. She had a fleece bathrobe on her body. The fasteners seemed to be closed seconds ago in a hurried manner. Shocked at seeing me she said âMike, what are you doing here, you are supposed to be at your officeâ.
I avoided her stupid question. âWho is this man? Why have you checked in with him in the middle of the day.â I bombarded my own questions at her.
âHoney, itâs not what it looks like,â She replied. âThis is Brian. He is one of the product managers for the Cleveland division and I was meeting him for a potential product development project.â She replied.
âIn a locked hotel room? With champagne and bath robes?â I asked. The stranger found it appropriate to turn off the hip-hop music at this point. He took his suit and left the room.
âLetâs get back to the house and talk this through, okay?â She said. I took a deep breath, not wanting to create a scene at the sight, I complied and left the room. The stranger named Brian was nowhere in sight. I headed towards the parking lot and then back to my car.
Ten minutes after the encounter, I found myself inside my car. Five minutes later, Claire joined me and I drove us home. As I pulled up on our driveway, I applied the brakes rather harshly. If none of us would have had the seat belt on, the sudden stoppage might have been dangerous. I stormed out of the car and into the house. I loosened my tie and sat on the sofa. Claire followed and I noticed she had now changed to her business casual attire. I was too distracted to notice her clothes in the car.
âSo, care to explain?â I blurted angrily.