My wife started leaving the house at night and returned around 5–6 am.
I began to suspect infidelity and, oh, how I wish she had just been cheating on me.
The real truth was far more painful.

One night I followed her. She went towards my parents’ house.
My brother came out, and they greeted each other like old conspirators.
I stayed hidden, watching, heart pounding, as they slipped inside.

Inside, I saw the lights flicker on through the curtains. I crept closer, bracing myself for the sight of betrayal. But instead of romance or infidelity, I saw something worse—something that shattered me in a different way.

They weren’t lovers. They were partners.
Stacks of money, boxes of stolen goods, and weapons lined the living room. My brother and my wife were running a secret operation together—robbing businesses, laundering money, living a double life.

I realized then why she returned home at dawn, why she was exhausted, why she had become a stranger to me.
She wasn’t just betraying our marriage. She was betraying the law, betraying everything I believed in.

And the cruelest part?
My own blood, my own brother, had pulled her into it—or maybe she had pulled him. I’ll never know who started it.

But in that moment, I wished she had only been cheating.
Because affairs break hearts.