Maybe he had gone downstairs for coffee.
Maybe he had stepped out to take a call.
Maybe this was normal for a man like him.
Then I saw the envelope on the pillow.
It was white.
Neatly placed.
My name was written across the front in careful black letters.
Margaret.
My heart tightened.
For one foolish second, I thought it might be a goodbye note. Maybe even something sweet. Something kind. Something that would let me keep the night as a memory instead of a mistake.
But the moment I opened it, the warmth drained from my body.
Some showed me at the bar.
Some showed us walking through the hotel lobby.
And some were taken inside the room, while I had no idea I was being photographed.
My hands began to shake so badly that the pictures slipped onto the blanket.
