…
The next 3 weeks turned into a monotonous nightmare.
Daryl sent out dozens of resumes to logistics companies, transport firms, warehouse complexes.
He went to interviews where he was greeted with polite smiles and promises to call back.
No one called back or they called back to say they had chosen another candidate, a younger one.
With more recent experience, willing to work for less pay, Michelle grew colder every day.
She stopped asking how his day had gone.
In the evenings, she sat in the living room with her phone or laptop, pretending to be busy.
When Daryl tried to talk to her, she answered in monosyllables without looking up from the screen.
They stopped having dinner together.
They stopped talking about anything except bills and household chores.
An invisible wall had gone up between them in the bedroom.
By the fourth week of searching, the money was really starting to run out.
The compensation was melting away faster than Daryl had expected.
He realized that he had to take any job he could find before they fell into debt.
Walmart hired him without asking any questions.
They needed a night shift loader, a simple job that required no qualifications.
Daryl filled out an application and had a short interview with a manager named Curtis Hammond, a man in his 40s with tired eyes and a professional smile.
2 days later, he got a call telling him he was hired.
When Daryl told Nelle, she just nodded.
Well, at least it’s something, she said in a tone usually reserved for commenting on the weather.
It’s temporary, Daryl added.
Until I find something in my field.
Of course, she replied, her voice lacking any hint of belief.
Daryl’s first day at Walmart was a humiliation he could not forget.
The blue uniform vest, the name badge, the warehouse with endless shelves.
Curtis showed him where everything was, explained the procedures, and introduced him to the other employees.
Everyone was polite, but Daryl saw in their eyes what he saw in the mirror.
The realization that he didn’t belong there.
A 34year-old man who just a month ago had been managing logistics for an entire region was now hauling boxes in a supermarket.
A week after Daryl started working at Walmart, his mother Vivien and stepfather Tyrone came to visit.
They called the day before and Michelle suddenly showed an enthusiasm that Daryl hadn’t seen in months.
She cleaned the house, made dinner, roast chicken with vegetables, and even baked an apple pie.
Daryl watched these preparations with surprise and a slight bitterness.
She made an effort for his parents, but not for him.
Viven and Tyrone arrived on Saturday around 5:00 in the evening.
His mother hugged Daryl, and he felt the tension in his chest ease a little.
Viven always knew how to calm him with her presence alone.
She was 58, but she looked younger, slim, neatly dressed, with short hair and kind eyes.
Tyrone shook Daryl’s hand with a firm handshake.
His stepfather was 2 years younger than his mother, but looked his age.
Tall, stocky, with graying hair cut short.
He wore expensive shirts and a massive watch and loved to talk about his business.
Daryl treated him normally.
Tyrone had appeared in their family’s life 8 years ago when Daryl had already been living separately for a long time.
So there was neither closeness nor conflict, just a man who made his mother happy after her divorce from his biological father.
Michelle greeted the guests with a smile that Daryl hadn’t seen in ages.
She hugged Viven, then turned to Tyrone, and Daryl noticed her smile brighten a little.
Tyrone hugged his sister-in-law, and Daryl thought the hug lasted a little longer than it should have.
Tyrone’s hands lingered on Michelle’s waist a second longer than etiquette required, but maybe it was just fatigue playing tricks on his perception.
Daryl had worked until 3:00 in the morning and slept only 4 hours.
At dinner, the conversation flowed easily at first.
Viven talked about her job at the insurance company and complained about the new accounting system that management had implemented.
Tyrone shared news about his laundromats.
He had opened a fourth location and business was going well.
Daryl sat silently, poking at his chicken with a fork, feeling like a failure compared to his successful stepfather.
“How are you doing, kids?” Viven asked, looking at her son and daughter-in-law.
“There was an awkward pause,” Michelle glanced quickly at Daryl, then smiled at Viven.
“I’m doing great.
I got a bonus last month for meeting my sales target.
My bosses are happy.
” “That’s wonderful, dear.
” Vivien exclaimed happily.
And you, Daryl? Daryl clenched his fork.
I changed jobs.
I’m at Walmart now.
His mother’s face changed.
Surprise, concern, incomprehension.
Walmart? But you were a manager at I was laid off, Mom, a month ago.
I’ve been looking for a new job, but haven’t found anything suitable yet.
I had to take what I could get.
Vivien reached out and covered his hand with hers.
Son, I’m so sorry.
Why didn’t you call? We could have helped.
It’s okay, he interrupted.
We’ll manage on our own.
Tyrone cleared his throat.
Daryl, if you need financial support, we can discuss it.
Or maybe I have a job for you.
The laundry always needs people for various positions.
Daryl felt a wave of humiliation wash over him.
Working for his stepfather, depending on his mercy.
No, that would be the last straw.
Thanks, Tyrone, but no thanks.
I’ll find something in my field.
This is just temporary.
Michelle snorted quietly, but said nothing.
Daryl heard the sound and clenched his fists under the table.
After dinner, Vivien and Michelle went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, and Tyrone went out to the garden to smoke.
Daryl stayed in the living room and turned on the TV for appearanc’s sake.
After a while, he got up to get some water from the kitchen and froze in the doorway.
Michelle and Tyrone were standing at the sink.
Their mother had gone upstairs somewhere.
They were talking in low voices, their heads bent toward each other.
Daryl couldn’t hear their words, but he saw Tyrone put his hand on Michelle’s shoulder, and she smiled back at him without pulling away.
Daryl entered the kitchen noisily, and they immediately moved away from each other.
“Nelle turned to the sink, and Tyrone put his hands in his pockets.
We’re out of water,” Daryl said, opening the refrigerator.
“There’s a bottle in the top cabinet,” Michelle replied without turning around.
Daryl took the water and returned to the living room.
Something about this scene was wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
Maybe he was just seeing things that weren’t there.
Fatigue, paranoia, stress.
It was all playing tricks on his mind.
The guests left around 10:00.
Vivien hugged her son again and promised to call more often.
Tyrone shook Daryl’s hand and hugged Nelle goodbye again.
A little longer than usual, it seemed to Daryl, but maybe it was all in his imagination.
When the door closed behind the guests, Michelle immediately went upstairs without saying a word.
Daryl stayed downstairs clearing the dishes.
He felt like a stranger in his own home.
The next day on Sunday evening, Daryl met Jamal Reeves at a bar on the outskirts of town.
Jamal had been his best friend since school.
They had been through a lot together, and Daryl knew he could talk to him openly.
Jamal was already sitting at a table in the corner with a mug of beer when Daryl walked in.
He waved, and Daryl headed over to him.
“You look terrible, bro,” Jamal said instead of a greeting.
“I feel terrible,” Daryl replied, sinking into a chair.
The waitress approached and he ordered a whiskey.
Jamal raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Daryl usually only drank beer.
“Well, tell me,” Jamal said when the waitress left.
“On the phone, you said things were bad, but you didn’t give any details.
” Daryl began to tell his story about getting fired, about his fruitless job search, about Walmart, about Michelle’s coldness.
The words poured out of him as if a dam had burst.
Jamal listened silently, nodding occasionally.
She doesn’t even talk to me normally.
Jamal, I’m like air to her.
It’s as if I ceased to exist the moment I lost my job.
And yesterday when my mom and Tyrone came to visit, she was completely different with them.
She smiled and joked.
But with me, she’s like an ice wall.
Have you talked to her? Honestly, I mean, I tried.
She brushes it off.
She says everything’s fine.
She’s just tired.
But I can see it’s not tiredness.
She’s disappointed in me.
I’ve become a failure in her eyes.
Jamal took a sip of beer and looked at his friend.
Seriously.
Listen, Daryl, you need to talk to her.
Really talk to her.
Sit down and lay out everything you feel.
If you don’t, things will only get worse.
A marriage can’t exist without communication.
What if she says it’s over? that she doesn’t need me anymore.
Then at least you’ll know the truth.
It’s better to know than to live in uncertainty and drive yourself crazy.
Daryl finished his whiskey in one gulp and grimaced at the burning sensation in his throat.
I’m afraid, Jamal.
I’m afraid that if I start this conversation, I’ll lose her for good and then I’ll have nothing left.
Jamal put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Bro, you have me.
You have your mom.
You’re not alone.
And if Michelle can’t support you in a difficult moment, maybe she’s not the one who should be there for you.
Daryl wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat because somewhere deep down he knew Jamal was right.
But admitting that meant admitting that 4 years of marriage had been a mistake, and he didn’t have the strength to do that.
They sat in the bar for another hour talking about Jamal’s job at the factory, news about mutual friends, anything but problems.
When Daryl returned home around midnight, Michelle was already asleep or pretending to be.
He undressed in the dark and lay down on his side of the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He didn’t know that in just a few days his life would fall apart completely.
That what he saw would destroy his last illusions and force him to make a decision that would change everything forever.
A month of working at Walmart turned Daryl’s life into a monotonous series of shifts.
Each one reminding him of who he had become.
He woke up at 6:00 in the morning, drove to work, carried boxes, unloaded trucks, and stocked shelves.
His body had gotten used to the physical exertion.
His muscles no longer achd after his shift, and his arms had grown stronger.
But the inner humiliation had not gone away.
Every time he put on the blue vest with the company logo, something inside him tightened with shame.
He sent out resumes in the evenings when he had the energy.
Few responses came and they were all rejections.
The job market did not need regional managers his age with a gap in their work history.
And the money kept flowing out.
Mortgage, utility bills, Michelle’s car loan.
His Walmart salary barely covered half of the expenses, the rest coming from savings that were melting away at an alarming rate.
His relationship with Michelle did not improve.
They hardly spoke.
He left in the morning while she was still asleep.
In the evening, she came home late and locked herself in the bedroom with her laptop or phone.
Daryl tried several times to talk to her as Jamal had advised, but she cut him off mid-sentence, saying she was tired and didn’t want to talk about anything serious right now.
He stopped trying.
Curtis Hammond was a good boss, fair, not nitpicky, sometimes even joking with the workers.
Daryl tried to do his job conscientiously, not sticking his neck out or complaining.
The other loaders treated him normally.
No one asked unnecessary questions about how he ended up there.
In the world of supermarkets, everyone had their own story of downfall, and no one wanted to rub salt in other people’s wounds.
On Wednesday, March 27th, Daryl arrived for his shift at the usual time, 7:00 am He changed in the breakroom, put on his vest, and headed to the warehouse where Curtis was already waiting with a tablet in his hands.
“Good morning, Daryl,” said the manager.
“I have a change of plans for you today.
” Daryl was alert.
Changes in plans usually meant something unpleasant.
“I’m listening.
I need you to go to the branch on West Temple Street.
Do you know where that is?” Daryl nodded.
West Temple was on the other side of Salt Lake City, almost a 40-minute drive from their store.
There’s a big delivery today, and two of the loaders are sick, the manager asked for help.
You’ll need to work there all day until the shift ends at 5:00 in the evening.
No problem.
No problem, Daryl replied, although he wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of driving across town.
Great.
Here’s the address.
Curtis handed him a piece of paper.
Ask for the manager, Gloria Tate.
She’ll know what to do and thanks for helping out.
Daryl took the paper, nodded, and headed for the exit.
10 minutes later, he was sitting in his Honda programming his navigation system.
The city was just waking up, and the roads were relatively clear.
He turned on the radio, but the music annoyed him, so he turned it off, leaving himself alone with his thoughts.
The West Temple branch was larger than the one where Daryl worked.
Gloria Tate met him at the staff entrance.
A woman in her 50s with a tired face and a professional smile.
Are you Daryl? Curtis called and said he’d send help.
Thanks for coming.
Today’s a nightmare.
Three truckloads of deliveries and not enough people.
She took him to the warehouse, showed him where to change, and explained the layout of the sections.
The work was the same, unloading, sorting, and arranging.
Daryl quickly got into the rhythm.
The other workers greeted him but didn’t show any particular interest.
A temporary worker from another branch, nothing unusual.
By noon, the first truck had been unloaded.
Daryl wiped the sweat from his forehead and drank water from the cooler in the back room.
His body achd from the layout, which was unusual for this branch.
He had to carry boxes farther than in his home store.
He sat down on a box to give his muscles a rest.
Gloria peaked into the back room.
Lunch break is from 12:30 to 1:00 pm You can go to the cafeteria on the second floor or go somewhere nearby.
Daryl decided to stay.
He went up to the cafeteria, a small room with a few tables and vending machines.
He bought a sandwich and coffee and sat down by the window.
From here, he could see the sales floor, rows of cash registers, shoppers with carts, the eternal hustle and bustle of the supermarket.
He ate mechanically, staring out the window and thinking about how he would have to return to an empty house in the evening where Michelle would pretend he didn’t exist.
Maybe he should have listened to Jamal and tried to have a serious conversation with her.
But every time he imagined that conversation, his heart sank with fear.
Fear of hearing what he already knew.
That she no longer loved him.
That he was a disappointment.
That she wanted to leave.
Daryl finished his coffee and looked at his watch.
20 minutes to 1, he could sit for another 10 minutes.
He looked back at the sales floor below and froze.
Michelle was standing at cash register number seven.
Daryl sat up straight, pressing his face against the glass.
No, it was definitely her.
The gray business suit he had seen in the closet that morning, the high hairstyle, the way she carried herself.
But what was she doing here on the other side of town in the middle of the workday? and Tyrone was standing next to her.
Daryl’s heart pounded so hard that he felt pain in his chest.
They were standing at the checkout with a cart containing several bags.
Michelle was saying something, smiling, and Tyrone was laughing.
They looked natural, relaxed, like a couple doing their regular shopping.
Daryl slowly got up, keeping his eyes on them.
The cashier scanned the items.
Michelle took out her credit card.
Tyrone put his hand on her waist, a light, familiar gesture that a man in a close relationship with a woman would make.
And she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t even flinch.
Daryl’s mind went blank.
He left the cafeteria and quickly descended the service staircase to the first floor.
The sales floor was huge, and he could easily hide between the shelves.
He walked through the household chemicals section, rounded the island with promotional items, and stopped behind the magazine rack from where he had a good view of the exit.
Michelle and Tyrone had already paid and were heading for the exit.
They weren’t holding hands, but they were walking close together, and there was an intimacy in their movements that Daryl couldn’t explain in words, but felt in his gut.
They left the store, and he rushed to the glass doors.
In the parking lot, Tyrone was carrying shopping bags to his black Lexus.
Michelle was walking beside him, saying something, and Tyrone was laughing again.
They approached the car.
Tyrone opened the trunk, put the bags inside, and closed it.
He turned to Nelle and kissed her.
Not on the cheek, not a friendly touch of the lips.
It was a real kiss, passionate, long, deep.
Tyrone’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.
Michelle’s hands rested on his shoulders.
They kissed in the middle of the parking lot without hiding, without looking back, as if they had every right to do so.
Daryl stood behind the glass door and the world around him seemed to stop.
The sounds of the shopping mall disappeared.
The people passing by vanished.
Only two people existed in the parking lot.
His wife and his stepfather kissing as if they had been together for a long time.
The kiss lasted forever, although in reality it was probably only 15 seconds.
Then they broke apart.
Michelle smiled.
Tyrone said something and she laughed.
They got into the car.
Tyrone behind the wheel, Michelle in the passenger seat.
The Lexus pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared around the corner.
Daryl stood there unable to move.
A void formed inside him.
Huge, black, allconsuming.
There was no anger.
There was no pain.
There was only emptiness and a feeling of unreality.
It was as if he were watching a bad movie, not his own life falling apart before his eyes.
Someone bumped into his back.
A customer with a shopping cart wanted to pass.
Daryl recoiled, let the person go by, turned around, and walked back to the warehouse.
His legs moved on their own, his brain not participating in the process.
He reached the utility room and splashed cold water from the sink on his face.
He looked in the mirror, a stranger’s face with empty eyes.
Hey, Daryl, your break is over.
One of the workers shouted, “The second truck is already here.
” He nodded without turning around and went to the warehouse.
The remaining 5 hours of his shift passed in a blur.
He carried boxes but didn’t remember what was in them.
He unpacked goods but didn’t see what he was unpacking.
His body worked on autopilot while his mind was stuck on the image of Michelle and Tyrone kissing by the car.
At 5:00 in the evening, Gloria thanked him for his help and said he had done a great job.
Daryl nodded, changed his clothes, and went out to the parking lot.
He got into his car but didn’t start the engine.
He just sat there staring at the windshield.
How long had this been going on? A week, a month, more? The oddities he had noticed during his parents’ visit, the long hug, the whispering in the kitchen, the glances were not a figment of his imagination.
It had started a long time ago, maybe even before he was fired.
Or maybe his dismissal was the catalyst.
He had become a failure and Michelle had found comfort in the arms of a successful man, even if that man was her husband’s stepfather.
Daryl finally started the car and drove home.
The trip took almost an hour.
Evening traffic.
He turned on the radio but turned it off after a minute.
Silence was better.
He arrived home around 7.
Michelle’s car wasn’t in the driveway.
She hadn’t come back yet.
Or she had come back and left again.
Or she wouldn’t be coming back at all today.
Daryl entered the house, went up to the bedroom, took off his clothes, and got in the shower.
Hot water poured over his head and shoulders, but it brought no relief.
He got out of the bathroom, put on his pajamas, and went downstairs.
He took a beer out of the refrigerator, opened the can, and took a big sip, then another.
Then he finished the can, and opened a second one.
At 8, Michelle returned.
Daryl was sitting on the sofa in the living room with a third can of beer in his hand.
She came in, put her purse on the table in the hall, and walked into the living room.
She saw him and stopped.
“Are you home?” she asked in surprise.
“I thought you were working the night shift.
” “I was working at another branch until 5,” he replied, looking at her.
She looked the same as always, impeccably dressed, neatly combed, cold.
There was no trace of guilt on her face, no hint that she had kissed his stepfather in the supermarket parking lot that afternoon.
I see.
Have you had dinner? No.
Me neither.
Shall we order pizza? She spoke as if they were a normal couple planning a normal evening.
Daryl wanted to scream, grab her by the shoulders, shake her, and make her confess, but instead he simply said, “Order if you want.
I’m not hungry.
” Michelle shrugged and took out her phone.
Daryl looked at her and thought, “How can she stand here so calmly talking to him, ordering pizza as if nothing had happened? Did he imagine it all? Maybe it wasn’t Tyrone.
Maybe it was just someone who looked like him.
” “No, it was Tyrone and it was Michelle.
” And they kissed like lovers, not casual acquaintances.
“I’m going upstairs,” he said, getting up from the couch.
Michelle nodded, still looking at her phone.
Daryl went up to his bedroom, closed the door, and took out his phone.
He found Jamal’s contact, and pressed call.
Hey, bro.
Jamal answered after the second ring.
Something wrong? We need to meet right now.
Daryl’s voice was shaking, and Jamal could hear it.
Where are you? At home, but I’ll leave now.
Come to the factory.
I finish my shift in 20 minutes.
Meet me in the parking lot.
Daryl went downstairs.
Michelle was sitting in the living room buried in her phone.
I’m going out for an hour, he said.
She didn’t even look up.
Okay.
He left the house, got in his car, and drove across town to the factory where Jamal worked.
It was a 25-minute drive, and every minute felt like an eternity.
The same image kept replaying in his head.
Michelle and Tyrone kissing in the parking lot.
Jamal was already waiting, leaning against his pickup truck.
When he saw Daryl’s face, he immediately straightened up.
“God, bro, you look like someone died.
What happened?” Daryl got out of the car and the words poured out.
I saw them today.
Michelle and Tyrone at Walmart where I was sent to work.
They were together.
They were shopping, laughing, and then then they went out to the parking lot and kissed.
Not just a peck on the cheek, Jamal.
They kissed for real, like lovers.
Jamal’s face contorted.
First disbelief, then shock, then rage.
Your stepfather, Tyrone, with Nelle? Yes.
Are you sure it was them? Absolutely.
I saw them up close.
It was them.
Jamal cursed and slammed his fist on the hood of the pickup truck.
God, Daryl, that that just hurts.
your wife and your stepfather.
How could that even happen? I don’t know.
I don’t know how long it’s been going on.
I don’t know when it started.
But now I understand all the strange things I’ve noticed.
They’ve been together for a long time, Jamal.
Maybe months.
And I was completely blind.
I didn’t see anything.
What are you going to do? I don’t know.
Daryl ran his hands over his face.
I’m in shock.
I can’t think.
I worked like a zombie the whole afternoon.
Jamal grabbed him by the shoulders.
Listen to me carefully.
You have to leave her immediately.
File for divorce.
This is the worst kind of betrayal, bro.
With your stepfather.
How could she even do that? I need to be sure until the end.
Until the end? You saw them kissing? What else do you need? I don’t know, Jamal.
Maybe it’s a one-time thing.
Maybe it’s a short fling that will end soon.
I need to know the extent of it.
Do you understand? I can’t destroy everything based on one kiss.
Jamal looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
Daryl, one kiss is everything.
That’s enough.
She’s cheating on you with your stepfather.
What more proof do you need? I need to know the truth.
The whole truth.
How long? Where they meet? I need to hear it from them.
Jamal let go of his shoulders and took a step back.
Okay.
Okay, bro.
If you need more proof, get it.
But promise me that when you do, you’ll do what needs to be done.
Walk away from her and cut all ties with these people.
Daryl nodded, though he wasn’t sure he could do what Jamal was asking.
Because despite what he had seen, despite the pain and betrayal, part of him still clung to the hope that it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, something that could be fixed.
They stood in the parking lot for another half hour, Jamal talking, trying to bring his friend back to his senses.
But Daryl hardly heard his words.
One thought kept running through his head.
What would he do next? When he got home, it was almost 11.
Michelle was already asleep.
Daryl lay down next to her, fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
He lay there thinking about how to follow his wife, how to find out the truth, how to catch them again.
And somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, in a dark corner he didn’t want to look into, another thought was forming, a dangerous one, a destructive one, a thought about what to do when the truth was fully revealed.
For the next 3 days, Daryl existed in a strange state of limbo between reality and nightmare.
He went to work, carried boxes, talked to colleagues, came home.
Outwardly, everything was as usual.
But inside, a fire raged, growing stronger with every passing hour.
Michelle acted as if nothing had happened.
She left for work in the morning, came home late at night, and hardly spoke to him.
Several times, Daryl caught himself thinking that he would go up to her and ask her directly, “How long have you been sleeping with Tyrone?” But every time something stopped him.
Fear? No.
More like the desire to find out everything for himself without her lies and excuses.
He imagined how she would deny it, cry, swear that it was a misunderstanding, or even worse, remain silent, looking at him with the cold indifference he had seen in recent months.
No, he couldn’t give her a chance to lie.
He had to see it with his own eyes.
Catch them in the act.
hear the truth from their own mouths.
On Friday, March 30th, Daryl woke up with a clear understanding of what he had to do.
Michelle had already left for work.
Lately, she had been leaving earlier and earlier, citing morning meetings.
He got up, took a shower, and got dressed.
He called Curtis and said he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to come in for his shift.
Curtis wished him a speedy recovery and hung up.
Daryl went down to the living room and walked over to the bookcase.
Behind a row of old textbooks was a small safe, the key to which he kept in his desk drawer.
He opened the safe and took out a gun, a Glock 19, purchased 3 years ago after a series of robberies in their neighborhood.
At the time, Michelle had insisted on buying a weapon to protect the house.
They went to a shooting range, took a basic course, and got a permit.
Then the gun sat in the safe and Daryl almost forgot about it.
He picked up the gun, checked the magazine.
Full 15 rounds.
He pulled the slide back, checking the mechanism.
Everything worked.
Daryl put the gun in the glove compartment of his car, wrapped in a rag.
He didn’t know exactly why he was taking the weapon.
for protection, for intimidation, or for something else he couldn’t yet think clearly about.
The pharmaceutical company where Michelle worked was located in the business center of the city.
Daryl arrived there around 10:00 in the morning and parked across the street where he had a good view of the exit from the office building’s underground parking garage.
He knew Nelle’s car number, a white BMW they had bought on credit 2 years ago when he still had a good job.
He had to wait a long time.
Daryl sat in his car drinking coffee from a thermos, watching the exit.
Dozens of cars passed by, but there was no white BMW among them.
He began to wonder, maybe she left early.
Maybe she really had meetings all day and wouldn’t be out until evening.
But at 12:45, the white BMW pulled out of the parking lot.
Daryl recognized the license plate immediately.
Michelle was behind the wheel.
He saw her profile as the car turned onto the street.
Daryl started the engine and followed, keeping a distance of three or four cars.
At first, he thought she was going to lunch or a business meeting, but the BMW turned onto the highway leading out of town, and Daryl felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
He continued to follow, trying not to get too close.
Michelle drove confidently, not exceeding the speed limit, and it was clear that she knew where she was going.
25 minutes later, she turned onto a narrow road leading to a cottage community.
Daryl knew this place.
It was where Tyrone had bought a country house a few years ago.
His mother said they hardly ever went there, only occasionally on weekends in the summer.
It was spring now, and the house should have been empty.
Michelle’s BMW drove through the village and stopped near a two-story house with a brown facade.
Daryl slowed down around the bend where he could watch without being seen.
Michelle got out of the car, fixed her hair, and looked around.
She looked calm, even happy.
The front Daryl parked his car in the shade of the trees a few dozen meters from the house.
He sat there staring at the closed door.
A storm of thoughts raged in his head.
They were there together in his mother’s house, doing what lovers do while he sat there like an idiot, unable to even move.
5 minutes passed.
10 15 Daryl opened the glove compartment, took out his gun, and unwrapped the cloth.
The metal was cold and heavy in his hand.
He looked at the weapon, then at the house.
What was he going to do? Break in, threaten them, forced them to confess.
He got out of the car, tucking the gun into his jeans under his jacket.
He walked slowly, trying not to make any noise.
He approached the house and climbed the porch.
The front door was wooden and massive.
Daryl tried the handle.
To his surprise, the door was unlocked.
They hadn’t even bothered to lock it.
That’s how confident they were of their impunity.
He pushed the door and it opened silently.
Daryl went inside.
The hallway was quiet, smelling of wood and something else.
Michelle’s perfume.
He listened.
Sounds came from the upper floor.
muffled laughter, voices, the creaking of a bed.
Daryl began to climb the stairs.
Each step seemed endless.
His heart was beating so loudly that he thought it would be heard.
But upstairs, they continued to talk, unaware of his presence.
There were several rooms on the second floor.
One of the doors was a jar, and voices could be heard coming from inside.
Daryl approached and stopped at the threshold.
Through the crack, he could see the bed.
Michelle and Tyrone were lying under the sheet embracing each other.
They were half-dressed, their hair tousled.
Michelle was laughing at something Tyrone had said, and her laughter was sincere, light-hearted, the kind Daryl hadn’t heard in months.
He pulled the gun from his belt and took off the safety.
He kicked the door open, and it swung wide with a crash.
Michelle screamed.
Tyrone sat up abruptly on the bed, covering her with his body.
Both stared at Daryl with expressions of utter shock.
Daryl, Michelle gasped.
“What are you?” He raised the gun, pointing the barrel at them.
His hands didn’t shake.
His voice was steady, icy.
Don’t move.
Tyrone slowly raised his hands.
“Darl, listen.
Let me explain.
” “Shut up.
” Daryl cut him off.
“I’ll do the talking now, and you’ll answer my questions.
How long has this been going on?” A heavy silence hung in the air.
Michelle pulled the sheet up higher, covering herself.
Her face was pale, but her eyes showed not fear, but rather irritation, as if Daryl had ruined an important date for her.
“I’m asking, how long has this been going on?” he repeated louder, taking a step forward.
“4 months,” Michelle replied.
“It started in November.
November before he was fired.
when he had a job, when he was a regional manager, when, as he thought, their marriage was not perfect, but strong.
4 months, Daryl repeated slowly.
So when you came to visit, you were already together.
Those looks, those hugs.
I’m not paranoid.
It was real, Daryl.
It just happened, Tyrone said, lowering his hands.
We didn’t plan it.
We didn’t want it.
But something happened between us, and we couldn’t resist.
You couldn’t resist? Daryl’s voice trembled with rage.
You’re [ __ ] your stepson’s wife, and you say you couldn’t resist? She’s my wife, and you’re my mother’s husband.
Your mother doesn’t have to find out, Tyrone said quickly.
We can settle this quietly.
I’m willing to help financially if you shut up, Daryl shouted, and Tyrone fell silent.
Daryl turned his gaze to Nelle.
She looked at him coldly without fear, and in that look was contempt that cut deeper than any words.
“Why?” he asked more quietly.
“Why did you do it?” Michelle smiled briefly, cynically.
“Because you’ve become a nobody, Daryl.
You lost your job.
Became a supermarket bagger.
You’re not the man I married anymore.
You’re a loser.
” And Tyrone, he’s successful, confident, a man in every sense of the word.
Even at his age, he’s better than you.
Do you understand? A man a generation older than you is better than you in every way.
The words hit him like a slap in the face.
Daryl felt something inside him break completely.
Not because she had cheated on him, not because she had chosen Tyrone, but because she had said it that way, indifferently, contemptuously, as if he really were nothing.
Michelle, why are you saying this? Tyrone grabbed her arm.
Don’t let him know the truth.
She cut him off.
He came here with a gun, demanding an explanation.
Here’s your explanation.
I don’t want to be with a loser.
I deserve better.
Daryl looked at her, the woman he had lived with for 4 years, whom he loved, for whom he worked, tried hard, built a future, and he saw a stranger.
Cold, cruel, capable of betrayal without a shred of regret.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
“I lost my job.
I became a loader.
I became a loser.
But I never betrayed you.
I never cheated on you.
I never lied to you.
and you, you and him.
” He looked at Tyrone, who was sitting on the bed, covering Michelle as if he had the right to protect her.
“You’re married to my mother,” Daryl said, his voice sounding strangely calm.
“She loves you.
She trusts you.
And you’re cheating on her with my wife, and you say it just happened.
” “Darl, I didn’t mean to hurt your mother,” Tyrone began.
“This has nothing to do with her.
This is between me and Michelle.
This has everything to do with all of us,” Daryl shouted.
“You’ve destroyed two families.
You betrayed the people closest to you.
And even now, as I stand here with a gun, you feel no guilt.
” “What are you going to do, Daryl?” Michelle asked defiantly.
“Shoot us? You don’t have the guts.
You’re weak.
You always have been.
” Something clicked in Daryl’s head.
There was no thought.
There was no decision.
There was only blind rage, pain, a feeling of complete collapse.
His hand with the gun rose on its own.
The shot rang out deafeningly in the silence of the room.
Tyrone jerked, clutching his chest.
A gasp escaped his lips.
He fell onto the bed, looking at Daryl with surprise and confusion.
Blood began to spread across the white sheet.
Michelle screamed piercingly, hysterically.
She tried to get up, but Daryl turned the gun toward her.
Daryl, no.
Please.
She stretched her arms forward as if she could stop the bullet.
I didn’t mean to.
I’m sorry.
Please.
The second shot silenced her.
Michelle collapsed next to Tyrone and the scream died away.
Silence filled the room.
A terrible dead silence broken only by the ringing in her ears from the shots.
Daryl stood staring at the bed.
Two bodies, blood, frozen faces.
The gun was still in his hand, smoke rising from the barrel.
He stared and couldn’t understand.
Did he do this? Were his hands the ones that pulled the trigger twice? Realization came slowly in waves.
First just the fact they were dead, then the understanding he had killed them.
Then the horror what he had done.
His legs gave way and Daryl sank to the floor, leaning his back against the wall.
The gun fell from his hand and landed on the carpet nearby.
He sat and stared at the bed where two people he had known his whole life or thought he knew lay.
Michelle, his wife, the woman with whom he had built a home, shared a bed, and planned a future.
Dead.
Tyrone, the stepfather who had made his mother happy after a difficult divorce.
the man he respected even though he wasn’t close to him dead and he was a murderer.
Daryl took out his phone with trembling hands.
He found Jamal’s contact.
He pressed call.
Hey, bro.
Jamal answered after the third ring.
How’s it going? Daryl opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
He swallowed and tried again.
Jamal, I I’ve done something terrible.
His voice sounded strange.
Quiet.
Broken.
What? Daryl, you’re scaring me.
What happened? I killed them.
Michelle and Tyrone.
I shot them both.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
Then Jamal spoke, his voice full of horror.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Daryl, where are you? At the country house.
The one that belongs to Tyrone and mom.
They’re here dead.
I I don’t know what to do.
Listen to me carefully, Jamal said quickly, trying to stay calm.
You need to call the police right now.
Turn yourself in.
Tell them what happened.
Don’t do anything else.
Just wait for them.
Yes, Daryl whispered.
Yes, I’ll call them.
I’m on my way.
Give me your address.
Daryl gave him the address even though he knew Jamal wouldn’t make it in time.
No one would.
It was already over.
He hung up and dialed 911.
The operator answered on the first ring.
911, what is your emergency? I killed two people, Daryl said in an even voice.
Shot them.
They’re dead.
I’m here with them.
There was a pause.
Then the operator’s voice became clear and professional.
Sir, please state your location.
He gave the address and answered a few questions.
The operator said the police were on their way and asked him to stay on the line.
Daryl put the phone on the floor next to him.
He didn’t want to talk anymore.
He sat on the bedroom floor, leaning against the wall, and looked at the bed.
The sun was shining through the window, illuminating the crime scene.
That’s what it was called now.
Crime scene.
Two bodies.
A killer waiting for the police.
Daryl thought about his mother.
How would she find out that her husband was dead? That her son had killed him? How would she cope? Would she ever be able to forgive him? Or was her life ruined forever, too? He thought about himself, the man he had been just 2 months ago.
Regional manager, husband, son.
An ordinary man with an ordinary life.
Where was that man now? When exactly had he disappeared? Sirens could be heard in the distance.
They were getting closer fast.
Daryl closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
His life was over.
Everything that had come before, his job, his marriage, his plans, his dreams, had been erased by two gunshots.
All that remained was this.
An empty room, two dead bodies, and a man who no longer knew who he
