Part 3I Invited His Mistress To Dinner

I looked up the address for The Hearth & Vine.

It was a twenty-minute drive, tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street in a neighborhood where nobody from our social circle ever went. It was small, unassuming, and dim—the kind of place designed for quiet conversations and people who desperately did not want to be recognized.

I didn't rush over there.

Instead, I cropped the profile picture and sent it to my best friend, Rachel. Rachel worked in corporate recruiting; finding out everything about a person’s life was practically her sport.

I sent her a single sentence: “Find out who she is. Everything you can.”

Rachel didn't reply for two minutes. Then: “Give me forty-eight hours.”

Two days later, a document landed in my inbox.

“Her name is Zoe Kelly. Freelance graphic designer. She's twenty-five—three years younger than you.”

“I managed to get her number too. Sent it below.”

Then came a third text, sent several minutes later:

“Nina. What are you going to do?”

I stared at the screen. I saved the number to my contacts under a simple, cold label: Zoe Kelly.

I didn't reply to Rachel.

I only had half a plan. The other half required visual confirmation.

The opportunity presented itself on Thursday. Gavin told me he had a dinner with an out-of-town client and asked if I wanted to join. I told him I had a splitting headache and needed to rest.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind him, I waited exactly twenty minutes.

I put on a heavy winter coat he had never seen, wrapped a thick wool scarf around my face, called an Uber, and gave the driver the address of a coffee shop down the street from The Hearth & Vine.

I wasn't looking for a confrontation. I was just going to watch.

The driver dropped me off a half-block away. I walked into a quiet 24-hour convenience store, bought a black coffee, and took a seat at the high counter facing the window.

From where I sat, I had a perfect view of the restaurant's entrance.

I waited for forty minutes.

My phone buzzed on the counter. It was Gavin.

“Client had to cancel at the last minute. On my way home now. Do you want me to pick up takeout from that Thai place you like?”

I stared at the words, my thumb hovering over the glass. I let a full minute pass before typing:

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

I flipped the phone face-down and looked back out the window.

Ten minutes later, the door to the restaurant opened.

A girl walked out. Her scarf was pulled high, her head bent over her phone as she stood under the awning, waiting for a ride.

I recognized her instantly. It was Zoe.

I set my coffee down, pushed open the glass door of the convenience store, and walked out into the cold air. I kept my head down, moving toward her like any other pedestrian on a chilly evening.

When I was about ten feet away, I stopped, pretending to look at my phone.

A rideshare car pulled up to the curb. Zoe stepped forward and opened the passenger door. As she bent down to get in, her scarf slipped slightly, exposing her collarbone.

The streetlight caught something shiny.

It was a thin gold chain. Hanging from it was a tiny, delicate initial pendant.

Z.

The car door slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled away, its red taillights disappearing into the city traffic.

I stood on the empty sidewalk, the wind biting at my face. The paper cup in my hand had gone cold.

I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and stared at the name Zoe Kelly for a long time. Then I locked the screen and put it back in my pocket.

I had seen enough.

I called another car and went home.

When I walked through the door, Gavin was already there. He had set out the containers of pad thai and spring rolls, along with a bottle of coconut water. The moment he saw me, he walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Feeling any better?"

"A little," I said, slipping out of my coat. "Thanks for the food."

I went to the kitchen to grab plates. Gavin sat on the couch, pulling out his phone to check his emails.

I stood by the kitchen counter, watching the profile of his face.

Seven years. I knew every line, every micro-expression on that face. I knew the tiny crinkle at the corner of his left eye when he was genuinely happy. I knew the way he bit the inside of his right cheek when he was concentrating. And I knew the subtle clearing of his throat that always preceded a lie.

I took the gold necklace, the letter Z, and the image of her getting into that car, and I filed them away. I added them to the ledger I had been keeping in my head.

"Nina?" he called out. "You ready? I'm starving."

"Yeah," I said, carrying the plates into the living room. "Let's eat."

After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes. I sat on the sofa, opened the Notes app on my phone, and went through the digital list of dates, receipts, and lies I had gathered.

I looked at it once. Then twice.

Then I closed it, pulled up Zoe's contact information, and stared at her number.

Not yet.

What I had was enough to break my own heart, but it wasn't enough to strip him of his excuses.

I needed the final piece of the puzzle.