I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who installs cameras in her own lake house. But when my husband’s frequent “business trips” began to sound rehearsed—and an old neighbor made a curious phone call—I realized something was off.
For seven years, I believed we had a solid marriage. We supported each other’s careers, shared dreams, and lived a life others admired. But somewhere along the way, the foundation began to shift—and I had been too busy to notice.
I work as a senior editor in Chicago. The past year nearly buried me in deadlines. Most nights, I fell asleep exhausted. My husband Luke always told me he was proud of me, offered sweet words, and tucked me in. I never questioned how convenient my distractions must have been for him.
Two years ago, I inherited my grandmother’s lake house—a quiet, rustic place filled with childhood memories. I told Luke it was mine alone, a part of my past I wanted to keep. We visited once to clean and paint, but I never gave him a key. He never asked—or so I thought.
Lately, Luke’s business trips had become more frequent. I trusted him. That changed the day Mr. Jensen, my grandmother’s longtime neighbor, called. He said he saw a man unlocking the lake house. A tall guy carrying groceries. He didn’t recognize him.
Continue reading on next page…