“Not spy, exactly,” she replied.
“Just… check. If there’s nothing to worry about, you’ll know. And if there is…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence.
I knew what she meant.
Reluctantly, I agreed. I installed a GPS tracker on his car, feeling both guilty and anxious. For the next week, I watched his movements.
Everything seemed normal at first — just work, home, work again. But then, one night, he called me.
“Hey, I have to stay late at the office,” he said. “Just tying up some loose ends before the holidays.”
I didn’t think much of it until I glanced at the tracker.
His car wasn’t at the office. It was moving… away from it, toward a part of town we rarely visited.
My stomach knotted. Without thinking, I grabbed my keys and followed him.
My heart raced as I parked a few houses down from where the GPS indicated his car was.
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