Before he could respond, she stepped aside, revealing what had truly shocked John to the core. Pinned to the wall were dozens of photographs, each depicting him and his mistress in various places—restaurants, parks, even outside the very house he stood in now. It was a gallery of his betrayals, laid bare in stark black and white.

His legs gave way, and he collapsed into a chair, his mind racing. How had she found out? How long had she known? And why hadn’t she said anything sooner?

Helen approached him, her gaze unwavering. “I wanted to give you a chance to tell me yourself,” she said softly. “But you never did.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes.