THE RECEIPT IN HIS WORK JACKET SHOWED A HOTEL STAY LAST WEEK
My hands froze inside the pockets of his work jacket when my fingers brushed against the folded paper. It was tucked deep inside the breast pocket, felt like thin, crinkly paper against my fingertips. The fluorescent kitchen light felt too bright suddenly, making the small slip of white jump out in the dim room.
Unfolding it, I saw the hotel name clearly stamped at the top, somewhere out of town, somewhere he never travels for work. And the date – Tuesday night. My heart hammered against my ribs; he said he was working late in the office that night, practically until dawn, fixing server issues.
He walked into the kitchen just then, grabbing water from the fridge, oblivious. “What’s this?” I asked, holding out the receipt, my voice barely a whisper but shaking violently. He went completely pale, eyes darting from my face to the paper, then away towards the door. “You think I wouldn’t find it?” I repeated, louder this time, the crinkling paper trembling in my hand.
He mumbled something about a client meeting that ran unexpectedly late, a last-minute room booking to avoid a long drive home, but the address on the receipt was over fifty miles from the office, miles from anywhere he was supposed to be. He wouldn’t look at me, just stared at the floor, his silence louder than any flimsy excuse he could offer.
Then a text notification flashed on his phone showing an unfamiliar name.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*The phone screen flashed again, illuminating the name ‘Sarah’ under a string of heart emojis. My stomach lurched. I knew that name. A junior analyst in his department, someone he’d mentioned only in passing, usually with a dismissive wave of his hand. Oblivious? He was anything but. He flinched, reaching for his phone, but I was faster. I snatched it from the counter.
“Sarah?” My voice was cold now, the tremor replaced by a hard edge. “Is this who you were with at the *Riverside Inn* on Tuesday night?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I scrolled furiously, my thumb clumsy with shock and anger. His eyes followed my movements, fear naked in them now. A few messages down, a string of texts. “Had a great time last night,” one read. “Can’t wait for next week,” another. Dated Wednesday morning.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence that had been damning moments ago was now a crushing weight of undeniable guilt. The receipt for a hotel fifty miles away, the lie about working late, the text message from Sarah – it all snapped into horrifying focus.
I dropped the phone onto the counter as if it were burning my hand, stepping back slowly. The bright kitchen light seemed to mock the sudden darkness that had fallen over everything I thought I knew. “Get out,” I said, the words quiet but final, echoing in the sudden stillness of the room. “Pack a bag and get out.” He stood frozen for a moment, his face a mask of defeat, before finally turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the crumpled receipt and the ruin of our Tuesday night.