When Eileen feels that something is off with her husband, James, she hires a private investigator. But a few weeks into the investigation, the investigator wants to call it off. But why?
What could James be up to that even an investigator doesn’t want to delve into? At 33, and after being with James for so long, I thought I knew everything about my husband. We’ve been married for four years, and in the beginning, we were on the same page about the future.
We decided that we didn’t want kids right away. First, we needed to settle into life, leave our cramped apartment, buy a house, and build the kind of financial security that would make raising a family easier. That’s exactly where we are now: in a white two-story house with a yard, savings in the bank, and two rock-solid careers.
I’m an editor at a top-tier magazine, and James runs a cybersecurity team for a large corporation. On paper, everything is perfect. So, why does it feel like my husband is slipping away?
Lately, James has been acting… off. He’s constantly on his phone with late-night calls that end the moment I walk into the room.
Sometimes I catch the faintest whiff of a perfume that definitely isn’t mine. And, my God, the lies are subtle, but they’re there. His attention is elsewhere, like he’s living in some parallel world I just can’t access.
I’ve spent hours lying awake, imagining the worst. At first, I tried convincing myself that I was overreacting. But that morning at work, I couldn’t keep it in.
During a break, I found myself unloading on my colleague, Rachel, who sat across from me at the long, glass conference table. “I just know something’s wrong, Rach,” I muttered, shaking my salad. “He’s been taking weird calls and coming home smelling like…
like another woman.”
Rachel gave me a sympathetic look, one that made me feel both seen but also stupid. “Have you asked him about it?”
“Of course,” I said. “He just brushes me off, saying that it’s work.
But I can tell he’s lying.”
I rested my elbows on the table, fighting back the lump rising in my throat. “What if he’s seeing someone else? How am I supposed to start a family with him if I can’t trust him?”
Rachel was quiet.
Then she leaned in slightly, dropping her voice. “Listen… if you want real answers, there’s someone I know who can help.”
“What, like a therapist?” I asked.
“No! A private investigator.”
I blinked, thrown off by how casually she said it, like it was normal to hire someone to tail your husband. She must have noticed my hesitation because she continued speaking quickly.
“Look, you’re obviously going through it, Eileen. If you need clarity, and I mean real clarity, this guy can give it to you. I know someone who used him before, and she got answers fast.
No fluff, just the truth.”
The idea felt heavy and strange, like I was crossing some invisible line. But at the same time, a flicker of hope stirred inside me. “How do I contact him?” I asked.
Rachel scribbled a name and number from her phone onto a piece of paper. “His name’s Benson. He’s discreet.
He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
But what if he is really cheating on me? The thought is always a gut punch, but if I’m ever going to build a family with this man, I need to know the truth. So, I decided to take Rachel’s advice and hire a private investigator.
I met Benson in a dimly lit café, my stomach twisted into knots as I told him everything. “Those late-night calls cannot be work-related,” I said, stirring my coffee. “There’s something more.
There has to be more. It’s a gut feeling, Benson.”
Benson stirred his own cup of coffee slowly. “Eileen,” he said.
“I’ve been in this business for a long time. More often than not, when someone thinks their spouse is cheating, they’re right. You need to be prepared for whatever we find.”
I nodded.
“I need you to understand that properly,” he pushed. “Whatever we find, there’s no going back, Eileen.”
I knew the risks. I knew that once Benson pulled the curtain back, there’d be no going back to blissful ignorance.
The days that followed were agony. Every time James glanced at his phone, my pulse spiked. At work, I buried myself in deadlines, trying to keep my mind from spiraling.
I was sitting at the office, going through the final layout of the upcoming issue, when my phone rang. Benson was finally calling me back. His voice was tense, and something about it chilled me.
“Eileen, we need to stop,” Benson said. “We need to drop the investigation for both of our sakes.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. What could be so bad?
“What? Why?” I gasped. “There’s a lot more going on here than we realized.
Trust me, this is bigger than you think, and it’s safer if we let it go.”
I sat frozen, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ached. A private investigator, someone used to digging up dirt on the most dangerous people, was now too scared to continue? What had Benson uncovered about James?
Was my husband tangled in something even darker than infidelity? But Benson refused to say more. “Keep the money,” he muttered before hanging up.
“I don’t want it.”
That night, sleep evaded me completely. I kept imagining James as someone unrecognizable. Suddenly, he was a stranger wearing the face of the man I married.
I had to know what was happening. If Benson wouldn’t help, I’d figure it out myself. “Come on, Eileen,” I said.
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