But despite all that effort, all I could think about was the black box under the bed.
That afternoon, while she was in the kitchen, I knew that I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t carry this secret anymore.
And why should I? Camille was the one who had been running around behind my back. Why should I keep quiet and let her get away with this type of behavior?
“I can’t continue in our marriage,” I said abruptly, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.
“What are you talking about?” Camille asked, her voice shaky.
“I know about the black box under the bed, Camille,” I replied firmly.
My wife’s face went pale. She froze in place for a moment before jumping up, panic written all over her face.
“I can explain, Chad,” she said. “Please, just listen to me!”
“I saw more than enough, Camille,” I said. “Your explanation isn’t going to change anything here.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“But it isn’t what you think it is,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French. They thought it was important for me to have French children! And they want their grandchildren now.”
I stared at her. Somehow the betrayal sank even deeper. How did she expect me to sit here and listen to this?
“So, what? You went along with it?”
She nodded.
“I met him and… Oh my goodness, Chad. We hit it off. But it wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
“I want a divorce, now,” I said, my voice cold and final.
Camille broke down, hurling accusations at me for snooping, for invading her privacy. She threatened not to sign the divorce papers, but I didn’t care anymore. There was no love left between us. Not after what I had found.
