That night, I was ready with my phone charged, the camera app open, and positioned myself by the bedroom window like a detective on a stakeout.
At 3:07 a.m., Dave slipped out of bed. At 3:12, he crossed the street.
At 3:15, Betty opened her door wearing nothing but a red slip that made my stomach turn.
I recorded everything. The kiss that lasted 30 seconds. The way his hands roamed her body like he’d memorized every curve.
And the whispered conversation I couldn’t hear but didn’t need to.
At 3:20, he came home. At 3:22, he was snoring beside me like the faithful husband he’d never been.
I collected evidence for a week. Seven videos, all timestamped and crystal clear in the harsh glow of Betty’s porch light.
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