Chapter 3 - THE HUNT
"Gone for weeks?" I whispered, the paper fluttering to the floor. The dates on the bank statements showed that she had hired a private investigator three months ago, right around the time I started "working late."
She hadn't been an exhausted, oblivious wife. She had been a ghost, observing my slow-motion betrayal with the cold, hard logic of a woman who had already mourned the death of her husband while he was still sitting across from her at the dinner table.
I scrambled to my feet, frantic. I had to find her. I grabbed my keys, but stopped. Where would she go? She had emptied the house in under ten hours. That required a team. She had professional movers. She had planned this with the military precision of a strategic retreat.
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I drove to her parents' home in Wichita, ignoring the speed limit, my mind racing through every lie I’d told over the last few months. The "late meetings." The "business trips." Every excuse felt like a jagged shard of glass in my throat. When I arrived, the house was dark. I pounded on the door until the neighbors started peering out of their windows. No one answered. Her parents had been in Florida for the winter.
She had gone into the wind.
