Part 2Walking Away From Our Broken Life

It had started three months ago.

I’d come home from the office late and found her curled up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. As I went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, I caught a glimpse of her screen over her shoulder.

A notification popped up.

Hey Elena, you going to that gallery opening this weekend? I can swing by and pick you up.

The sender was labeled "Travis - State."

I didn't stop. I walked into the bedroom with my water.

Travis was a guy I’d never been close to in college, but he’d suddenly become a fixture in our lives after a homecoming event last year. He’d come over to our table, "bro-ing" me for twenty minutes about how much he’d always looked up to me.

Elena had been sitting right there, soaking it in.

After he finished flattering me, he’d poured her a fresh glass of wine. "You’re a saint, Elena. Jason’s a lucky man to have someone like you keeping him grounded."

I hadn't thought much of it at the time.

Then, he started weaving himself into the fabric of our social life. He joined the group chat for college alumni spouses. He was the life of the digital party—cracking jokes, sending memes, being the first to wish everyone a happy holiday.

"Your friend Travis is actually pretty charming," Elena had said once.

"He’s alright," I’d replied.

Then came the solo invites.

At first, he invited me. Jason, let’s grab a beer. Jason, let’s hit the driving range.

I went twice. After that, I was too busy with the merger at work, so I declined.

That’s when he started inviting Elena.

The excuses were always bulletproof.

Elena, there’s this new boutique opening. I’m helping a friend with the PR, want to check it out?

Elena, my cousin’s a pastry chef and she’s doing a tasting. I’ve got an extra pass.

Elena, there’s a farmers market this Sunday. I’m heading that way if you need a ride.

She always told me about it. She’d say it with a casual, almost bored shrug.

"Travis asked if I wanted to see that exhibit. I think I’ll go."

"Travis said his friend’s shop is having a flash sale. Might browse."

"Sure," I’d say.

"Don't you ever get jealous?" she’d ask, her eyes searching mine.

"Should I be?"

She’d roll her eyes and huff. "You’re so boring, Jason."

After I saw that text in the kitchen, I started paying attention. I didn't dig through her phone—I’m not that kind of man. I just counted the frequency.

In one week, Travis’s name came up three times.

Monday: Travis recommended this restaurant.

Wednesday: Travis mentioned an event this weekend.

Friday: Travis sent me this hilarious video.

That was more often than she mentioned her own sister.

The second week: four times.

The third week: five.

One night, she came out of the shower, her hair still dripping, and the first thing she did was reach for her phone. She typed something, then giggled.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Just Travis. He sent this meme, it’s actually hysterical."

She held the phone out to show me. I didn't look at the meme. I looked at the length of the chat bubble history. The scroll bar was tiny.

I handed the phone back. "Funny," I said.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. I wasn't wondering if she was sleeping with him. I was thinking about the way she mentioned him.

She wasn't hiding him. She was flaunting him.

She wanted a reaction. She wanted me to fight for her, to be the jealous husband, to give her the drama her life was apparently lacking. And because I wouldn't give it to her, she was upping the ante.

I rolled over and closed my eyes.

The next day, I called an old roommate from college. A guy named Mark who ran a boutique law firm downtown.

"I need you to run a background check on someone for me," I said.

"Who?"

"Travis Miller."