She's hiding something from me.

I just know it.

Whenever I walk past our bedroom, she's always texting someone suspiciously on her phone, her eager eyes glued to the screen and a small smile creeping up on her lips. If I catch her, she would jump in surprise and immediately put her phone away. And when I inquire about it, apparently it's just a friend.

I wanted to know who she was texting. I had to know. It took me a long while, but using a combination of guessing her password and security questions and some help from a friend of mine who likes to claim she's a 'hacker' but is actually just a really big computer geek, I did manage to get into her phone. But I couldn't find those mysterious messages or figure out who she was texting.

She must have anticipated what I'd try and deleted the messages, or hidden them in some sort of secret app that I couldn't find.

She's smart, my wife.

Too smart.

The other suspicious thing she always does is sneak out of the house at random times during the day for no particular reason. Once it was 'visiting my sister's house', and then it was 'getting a drink at the café', and the worst one yet, 'going for a run.'

That lazy butt hasn't been in a run once in all the seven years we've been married. So why is she straight up lying to my face? The signs can't have been clearer.

She has another guy. A secret, second husband.

My chest constricts painfully and flaming anger spirals through my head whenever I think about it. Who is this man that she is texting constantly, and visiting every day in these mysterious meetings? Who could she possibly love more than me? Am I not enough for her?

I have tried to follow her several times before but she's sneaky; she always manages to find a way to throw me off track and lose the trail, slipping cleverly out of my sight like a cunning fox.

And putting a secret tracking app on her phone hasn't seemed to help either. She just switches her phone off whenever she leaves the house, claiming it died or she turned it off to conserve battery.

Lies.

Straight up lies.

But I won't let her lie to me and humiliate me any longer.

Today, I am going to find out exactly who she's been cheating on me with. I will expose her for who she really is in front of everyone, our family, our friends, and show them that this seemingly innocent angel is actually a two faced, lying, cheater who deserves to rot in hell.

All I need now is the evidence.

And with my limbs twisted unnaturally in this dark, cramped box, I'm the closest I've ever been to getting it.

All I have to do now is wait for her to arrive. She should be here any second to meet up with that disgusting, other man and probably three cute, little, secret kids that they have conceived together and of course, I can't forget their two adorable pet dogs and four hamsters and—

"I'm sorry."

That's her. That's her voice.

She's here.

"I didn't mean for any of this," she whispers. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She should be saying that to me, I think bitterly. This man doesn't deserve her apology. I do. I was her husband first—I am the one she knew for longer, and has loved her for longer. How dare she cheat on the both of us, and then have the audacity to apologise to him instead of me? I shake my head to myself, trying to control the fuming rage threatening to spill out of me as the confines of the cold metal walls seem to swallow me up into their dark abyss.

She sniffles quietly, and I can hear her shifting in her seat. I tilt my head slightly, trying to get my ear as close as I can to the edge to hear her better, her faint voice echoing through the walls as she speaks again.

"I know what I did was wrong," she continues. "But despite everything, I don't regret it."

What? I can barely control myself as my body shakes in fury. How dare she? How dare she not regret her disgusting, scandalous actions?

"You weren't a good husband to me," she breathes out, choking back a small sob. "You were obsessive and controlling. I was stuck in an abusive relationship and this was the only way I could escape it."

Is... is she talking to me?

I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest as the darkness in the box seems to shroud over me, suffocating me in a thick blanket of rage.

How does she know I'm here? Is her other man listening to this too? But more importantly, how dare she call me obsessive and controlling?

"Fred," she whispers, the sound of my name soft and beautiful on her delicate tongue. "I really am sorry."

I can't hold it back any longer. A raw scream of wild anger emanates from the depths of my throat, as I slam my hands violently against the walls, no longer caring about hiding my presence. But strangely, no noise leaves my slightly parted lips, and my hands soundlessly bounce off the walls of the box, barely an echo to be heard. I try again and again and again but it continues to yield the same, empty result: silence.

Alone and trapped in the black coffin, the stench of death slithers its way down my throat, suffocating me. I shiver into myself and listen to her speak her final words, causing my world to crash down like a hurricane.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again as the reality of the truth finally dawns upon me. "I'm sorry I killed you."

***

Written in Nov 2020