A boring marriage is better off without it

Summary

My husband Leo’s car was blocking the neighbor’s driveway. I grabbed the spare key to move it. He had just left for a three-day conference in the city.

I slid into the driver's seat. The navigation screen was still on, displaying his recent history. One address had been searched repeatedly, and even saved as a favorite.

“Annie’s Place: 7 Crescent Moon Bay, Unit 901”

I scrolled through the history, my fingertips turning to ice. For the last six months, there were regular trips to that address, with the return time always logged after midnight.