PART 1 — THE MAN IN MY BED

“Wait… are you Evelyn’s husband?”

Those were the first words I heard at six in the morning when I opened my eyes and realized the person lying beside me was not my wife.

It was a man I had never seen before.

My name is Arthur Vance.

I was sixty years old, and I had been married to Evelyn for twenty-eight years.

Until that morning, I believed I knew the woman sleeping beside me better than anyone else in the world.

The night before, I had returned home to suburban Chicago after six exhausting weeks overseeing a heavy industrial logistics expansion near Dallas.

The project finished two days early.

I decided not to tell Evelyn.

I wanted to surprise her.

I drove through most of the night and pulled into our driveway shortly after one in the morning.

Everything looked normal.

Evelyn’s beige wool coat hung on the entry rack.

Her everyday heels were tucked under the bench.

Her favorite coffee mug sat upside down beside the sink.

A lamp glowed softly in the upstairs hallway.

I smiled.

Home.