The Day I Caught My Boyfriend Cheating in Our Pool

The first time I watched my boyfriend kiss another woman, he had the nerve to ask me not to embarrass him.

“Are you kidding me?””

The words escaped my mouth before the grocery bags hit the patio.

One second, I was walking into the backyard of the Georgia mansion I had called home for nearly three years, thinking about dinner and whether I had remembered to buy lemon juice.

The next, I was watching Marcus Reed kiss another woman in my swimming pool.

Not a stranger passing through the neighborhood. Not someone who had accidentally wandered into the wrong backyard.

A woman in a blue swimsuit had her arms wrapped around Marcus’s neck. His hands rested on her waist, and their faces were pressed together as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

Neither of them had noticed me standing beside the patio doors.

My eggs rolled across the stone tiles.

A carton of strawberries burst open near my shoes. One grocery bag tipped over, spilling a loaf of bread into a puddle beside the pool.

Marcus opened his eyes first.

For half a second, he looked annoyed, as though I had interrupted an important business call.

Then he saw my face.

He released the woman so quickly that she stumbled backward in the water.

“Lauren?””

I stared at him.

The late-afternoon sun reflected off the pool, making the water shimmer around his bare shoulders. His trimmed beard was damp, and his navy swim trunks clung to his waist.

On the lounge chair beside the pool lay his shirt, trousers, and the woman's white cover-up.

Evidence arranged so casually that it almost looked deliberate.

Marcus raised both hands.

“Lauren, please don't make a scene.””

I glanced at the scattered groceries.

Then at the clothes.

Then at the man who had kissed my forehead that morning and told me he loved me.

A strange calm settled over my body.

“Don't make a scene?”” I repeated.

Marcus glanced toward the neighboring houses beyond our fence.

“Baby, just listen to me.””

“Baby?””

I laughed once, but there was nothing funny about the sound.

“You're standing in our pool with another woman, and you want to discuss my behavior?””

The woman in blue finally spoke.

“Marcus, you said she wouldn't be home until tonight.””

Her words hung in the air.

Marcus turned toward her so sharply that water splashed against the pool steps.

“Brianna, stop talking.””

Brianna.

I knew that name.

Two weeks earlier, I had seen it flash across Marcus's phone while we were eating breakfast. When I asked who she was, he had casually turned the screen facedown.

“Someone from the office,” he had said.

“She's working on a project with me.””

I had believed him.

That was the part that suddenly hurt more than the kiss.

Not the woman's hands on his neck. Not the water dripping from his hair.

It was the memory of how quickly I had apologized for asking a perfectly reasonable question.

Marcus looked back at me, his expression changing from alarm to desperation.

“Lauren, please. It's not what you think.””

I tilted my head.

“Then tell me what I should think.””

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Brianna climbed toward the pool steps, gripping the railing. Marcus reached for a towel and tossed it toward her without taking his eyes off me.

“Get dressed,” he muttered.

She caught the towel.

“Don't talk to me like I'm the problem.””

“You knew I had a girlfriend.””

“And you told me you were ending it!””

The silence that followed was almost beautiful.

I bent down and picked up a crushed strawberry from the patio. Red juice stained my fingers.

“I invited you into my life, Marcus. I gave you a key to my home. I trusted you with my money, my family, and every plan I made for the future.””

He stepped toward the pool ladder.

“Lauren, I love you.””

I looked at him for a long moment.

“Then you should have treated me like someone you loved.””

His face tightened.

He had no answer for that, either.

I turned away from the pool.

Marcus seemed to think I was walking inside to cry. I could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he had finally regained control of the situation.

He had always been good at that.

A soft apology. A carefully chosen explanation. A promise that whatever had happened would never happen again.

He believed the right words could make me doubt my own eyes.

But I wasn't going inside to cry.

I was walking toward the lounge chair.

Behind me, Marcus called my name.

I ignored him.

I gathered his white shirt, his trousers, and Brianna's cover-up. The fabric was warm from the sun. I could smell his cologne on the collar of his shirt, the same cedar-and-citrus fragrance I had bought him for his birthday.

For one brief second, I remembered that morning.

Marcus kissing my forehead while I stood at the kitchen counter.

Marcus telling me to pick up something nice for dinner.

Marcus saying, “We have the whole evening to ourselves, baby.””

I had smiled.

I had actually smiled.

My fingers tightened around the clothes.

Then I walked to the outdoor fireplace.

A small fire was already burning behind its protective stone surround, crackling softly beneath the afternoon sky.

Marcus noticed where I was going.

His expression changed instantly.

“Lauren, what are you doing?””

I stopped beside the fireplace.

He gripped the pool ladder.

“Don't.””

I looked over my shoulder.

“You wanted me not to make a scene.””

I dropped the clothes into the contained fire.

The fabric landed across the glowing logs. The edges began to darken and curl.

Marcus lunged toward the steps.

“Stop! No, please!””

I stepped away from the fireplace, leaving him plenty of room to climb out. He froze at the bottom of the ladder, torn between coming after me and staring at his clothes.

Brianna stood beside him, clutching her towel around her shoulders.

Neither spoke.

For the first time since I had known him, Marcus looked genuinely afraid of what I might do next.

I watched the flames catch the edge of his shirt.

Then I turned toward the wall-mounted security panel beside the patio door.

Marcus followed my gaze.

His face drained of color.

“Lauren,” he said slowly.

“Don't touch that.””

I pressed my thumb against the screen.

A soft electronic beep sounded.

Then another.

The security system began its activation sequence.

Marcus grabbed the pool railing.

“What the hell are you doing?””

I looked at him through the glass reflection of the panel.

“You already explained everything.””

His mouth fell open.

And when the gate motor began humming somewhere beyond the garden, Marcus suddenly stopped looking at me.

He was staring at the driveway.

A black SUV had just pulled through the front gate.

Marcus whispered a name I had never heard him say with fear before.

“Mr. Whitmore.””

I turned toward the entrance.

An older man in a charcoal suit stepped out of the vehicle, holding a leather briefcase. Behind him, a uniformed security guard was carrying a thick envelope.

The older man looked toward the pool.

Then toward Marcus.

Finally, he looked at me.

“Miss Bennett,” he called, his voice carrying across the lawn.

“I'm glad you're home. We need to talk about the property.””

Marcus climbed out of the pool.

“Sir, this isn't a good time.””

The man ignored him.

He walked straight toward me and held out the envelope.

“Your attorney asked me to deliver this personally.””

I took it.

The name printed across the front wasn't mine.