My Husband’s GPS Told Me Everything

I was on my way to meet a client when I tapped open the GPS. A syrupy, flirtatious female voice purred from the speakers. "Hehe, your darling Robin is ready to start our little journey, just the two of us. It’s like we’re running away together~" I slammed on the brakes, my chest hitting the steering wheel. The voice chirped on. "Up ahead is a convenience store with Robin’s favorite cookies. Please, please buy some for me~" I froze. Listening to that voice, I dialed my husband's number. "Patrick," I asked, "have you used the Porsche recently?" On the other end, his tone was as gentle as ever. "My car broke down a few days ago, so I took it for a spin. Why? What's up, honey?" "Nothing," I said with a tight smile, then hung up and drove straight to his office. 1 I rarely visited Patrick's company. I've always believed that trust is the cornerstone of a marriage. I didn’t want to suspect him, but that GPS voice echoed relentlessly in my mind. I was sitting in his office, having just asked HR to bring me the files of every new female employee, when Patrick walked in. "Honey," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face as he sat down opposite me. "Keeping tabs on me, are we?" He leaned forward. "Find anything interesting?" Tapping his fingers on the desk in a lazy rhythm, he added, "If you don't, you'll have to make it up to me. I'm thinking you can take me skydiving." Looking at his open, disarming smile, I felt a pang of guilt. Maybe I was being paranoid, too small-minded. The personnel files revealed nothing. There wasn't even a new hire with the last name associated with "Robin." Had I really overreacted? I pushed the files aside and met his teasing gaze, sighing. "It was just a routine check." I slid the stack of folders toward him. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't do it again." Patrick's expression immediately softened into a placating smile. "Uncomfortable? Honey, the fact that you care this much about me… I couldn't be happier." Patrick was always like that. A titan in the boardroom, but with me, he was like a boy. Even when I was in the wrong, he’d be the first to apologize, determined to keep me perpetually cherished and adored. I shouldn't have doubted him. I followed him home. As he carried groceries into the kitchen, I headed to the study to finish some work. Just then, his phone, left on the desk, buzzed to life. I was about to call out to him when the caller ID caught my eye. My breath hitched. I picked up the phone and answered. That same, sickeningly familiar voice filled the air. "Jules, oh, Jules! My numbers for the second half of the year are all riding on that big deal of yours! The boss praised me today, I owe you a huge thank you for that." My heart clenched. "I heard the tigress was on the prowl today," she continued with a giggle. "So, give me the all-clear, Jules. What's the situation on your end?" The contact name read "Robin - Silver Creek." She was calling my husband Jules. Not even the old guard from when the company started dared to be so familiar; they all called him Mr. Sterling. No one, no matter how close, spoke to him like that. But now, this woman… She paused, a note of hesitation in her voice. "Jules? Are you there? Why aren't you answering? Is the connection bad?" The line suddenly went dead. I stared, pale-faced, at Patrick, who was still humming to himself in the kitchen. A memory surfaced—his recent, sudden interest in wine tasting. A new partnership that had appeared on the company's roster, a winery that made no strategic sense. I had asked him about it. Why the sudden change in direction? "It doesn't matter the industry," he'd told me, his eyes soft as he looked at me. "If there's a pie, I want a slice. I'm going to make my wife the happiest woman in the world, give her the best life imaginable." The memory, once so sweet, now felt like a vicious slap, shattering the beautiful illusion of our marriage and all my hopes for it. Patrick. How far had he and this woman gone? 2 Huddled in the study, Robin's voice replayed in my head. I remembered going with Patrick to a winery event once, but I couldn't recall meeting anyone named Robin. I opened a chat with my best friend, Maya. [Can you run a check on Silver Creek Vintners? And Patrick.] My hands trembled as I typed, a cold dread creeping up my spine. [I need everything. All of Patrick's recent transactions and his full itinerary.] The tears welled up, but I stubbornly blinked them back, forcing myself to be rational. [I think Patrick is having an affair.] The moment I hit send, Patrick’s voice came from behind me. "Honey." He walked over, his face etched with apology. "Something's come up at work, a project emergency," he said, his tone strained. "I know I promised I'd be with you tonight, but they can't handle it, and I really have to go." He stroked my hair. "I'll be back as soon as I'm done." He was holding his phone, the screen still lit up, a chat window open. I grabbed his hand, my voice tight. "Can't you stay?" Normally, he would have heard the tremor in my voice. He would have seen the unsent message on my screen, the raw vulnerability in my eyes. But not tonight. His focus was split between the door and the text messages he was still typing. He just answered with strained patience. "I'll be back soon. Don't make this difficult." His voice was tinged with an urgency I’d never heard before. "Honey, you're always so understanding. Please, don't put me in a tough spot." It was as if all the air had been sucked out of me. I sat there, a deflated balloon, watching as he rushed out without even a proper goodbye. The tears finally fell, silent streams carving paths down my cheeks. It was true. There was no such thing as a faithful cat in a world full of cream. My phone rang. It was Maya. "Okay, I've got something," she said, her voice grim. "Patrick personally financed and pushed a new project with Silver Creek. The whole thing stinks." A file appeared in my chat. "Everyone at Silver Creek is talking about it. How Patrick's throwing money around to promote some girl. No one there dares to even look at her sideways." Maya's voice turned to ice. "They're having a 'celebration dinner' tonight. At the Hawthorne Hotel." "Patrick didn't go, did he?" The last sliver of hope inside me shattered. I looked at the dinner Patrick had prepared—the perfectly peeled shrimp, my favorite sweet soup, the single rose laid beside my plate. And then I remembered his words from earlier that morning. "Honey! Did you forget? Today's our anniversary." Our wedding anniversary. And he still chose someone else. He still left me here alone, even after I begged him, told him I didn't want him to go. He walked away, toward the person who was clearly occupying all of his thoughts. "I'm going to the Hawthorne," I told Maya. "Even if this is the end of my marriage, I deserve to know who I lost to." I had imagined it a thousand times—the kind of woman I might lose him to. Someone sophisticated and elegant, or maybe someone young, vibrant, and full of sunshine. I never, ever imagined this. When I saw her, sitting next to Patrick, clinging to his arm and cooing his name, she was shockingly plain. The kind of face you’d never remember seeing in a crowd. She had no grace, her clothes were ordinary, and her hair was tied back messily. She was bare-faced, beaming up at him. "Jules," she whined, "they're trying to make me drink." She pouted, pointing at the other executives at the table. "I told them my knight in shining armor would protect me, but they didn't believe me. They said you had to come and deal with them yourself." Inside the private room, the laughter was slick with insincere compliments. "You've gotta hand it to Robin, she knows how to pick 'em. When she finally decides on a man, she lands a whale." 3 "And a romantic one at that!" a portly man slurred, raising his glass. "Everyone in the industry knows Patrick Sterling would choose the girl over the glory, hahaha." "Damn right," another chimed in. "So, Robin, aren't you going to join us in a toast to your hero?" My feet were rooted to the spot, my hand frozen on the door. Patrick was allergic to alcohol. He never drank. At every social function, I was the one on the front lines, his shield. Now, I watched as Robin giggled. "Oh, I don't drink. My Jules wouldn't want me to. Right, Jules?" She snuggled against his arm, and to my horror, Patrick actually picked up his glass, his gaze cool as he met the other man's eyes. "Robin isn't drinking," he said flatly. "If you need a toast, Mr. Chen, you can have one with me." He downed the glass in one go. The room erupted in cheers. Robin, her cheeks flushed, praised him for being her hero. Patrick just smiled that indulgent smile and pinched her cheek. It felt as if a dull, rusty blade was being dragged across my skin, carving one hideous, terrifying gash after another. I could feel the blood welling up from those wounds, could feel myself being torn to shreds, and yet, a small, insane part of me was still whispering, maybe there's a misunderstanding. Maya, seeing me sway, grabbed my arm, ready to storm in. "That son of a bitch!" she hissed. "I'm going to kill him!" I held her back. I pulled out my phone and dialed Patrick's number. I was clinging to one last, desperate hope. I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted him to tell me there was some other explanation. I watched him pick up his phone from the table, his expression shifting as he glanced at Robin. Robin didn't hesitate. She reached over and pressed the red decline button. Then she wrapped her arms around his again. "You promised," she whispered, her lower lip trembling just so. "You said you'd have my back." She looked at him, her gaze stubborn and demanding. I stubbornly redialed, again and again. The screen on the table lit up, went dark, lit up again, until finally, Patrick made his choice. "Right," he sighed, a note of resignation in his voice. "I promised you." He placed his phone face down, severing my last connection. Robin’s triumphant smile was the final straw that broke me. I nearly collapsed, but a sliver of cold, hard reason cut through the agony. "The cameras," I rasped, my voice shaking as I pointed to a security camera in the corner of the hallway. "Get the footage. I want the evidence." Looking from the camera to Patrick’s face, which was already paling from the alcohol, I told Maya, "He made his choice. Now I'll make sure he lives to regret it." Back in Maya's car, I scrolled through the files she had pulled. There were photos of Patrick and Robin on trips, hiking and laughing. Robin's Instagram was a meticulously crafted web, weaving a love story for her and Patrick, a story in which I had no part. I saw a video from last month, while I was away on a business trip. Robin was sitting in my Porsche, recording herself. "Hey fam!" she chirped at the camera. "So hubby's car broke down, so he bought this new one. It's a little... feminine for him, so I'm planning a little surprise!" She recorded the custom GPS greeting and then put a finger to her lips, winking at the lens. "What do you think? Will my hubby like his surprise? And will he buy his favorite girl some cookies?" Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I kept scrolling. I found a post from the day I was at the clinic for an IVF consultation. Robin had been at the same OB/GYN clinic. In her picture, she was holding up a lab report, a bashful look on her face. The caption read: "Your girl is a month and a half late! What do you guys think? Is it just a wacky cycle, or..." She added a winking emoji. "Is your girl about to become a mommy?!" "That conniving little bitch!" Maya slammed her hand on the steering wheel. But I was strangely calm, the initial storm of pain and rage having passed, leaving behind a chilling clarity. "Patrick has a low sperm count," I told her, my voice flat.

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