Eight Lives, One Love The Death Loop Marriage

I was scrolling through my phone while filling up the tank on my way home when a trending post on a local forum caught my eye:

The college guy I'm seeing on the side wants to come to my place, but my husband comes home at random times. How do I keep him from finding out?

One reply read:

I've got experience with this. We have two parking spots, and whenever I'm hooking up at home, I park my car sideways across both of them. That way, when my husband gets back and can't park, he calls me. While I go down to move the car, my guy slips out. Been doing this for six months and haven't been caught once.

The comments were full of people praising her genius. The original poster had even liked the reply.

I never commented on drama posts. I was strictly a lurker. But I couldn't help myself this time.

"You people are disgusting. Karma's coming for you."

Then I drove home and saw my parking spot taken up by my wife's car, parked sideways across both spaces.

My wife. The woman who drove like she was taking a road test every single day. Who never so much as grazed a line. Her car was sitting diagonally across both spots like a barricade.

I slammed the brakes. The post flashed through my mind.

It's a coincidence. Has to be.

Ethel Pruitt was known for loving me like I was her whole world.

We'd dated for five years, been married for two. Seven years total, and she'd been nothing but devoted the entire time. Thoughtful in ways most people couldn't even imagine.

She knew I loved cars, so she'd bought me a Maybach for my birthday. She'd even purchased the parking spot right next to hers.

Worried I didn't have enough driving experience, she always pulled her car a little closer to her own side whenever she parked, just to give me an extra eight inches of room. Every single time. Without being asked.

A woman who thought about me that carefully, who put me first in every little detail of her life, there was no way she'd do something like that.

But the post wouldn't leave my head.

I sat there staring at Ethel's car for a long time. Then I made a decision.

I didn't call her to come move it.

Instead, I pulled into a temporary spot nearby, killed the engine, and got out. Then I walked home.

I wanted to see if there really was a cheating wife inside, waiting for the phone call that would signal her to come move the car.

At the front door, I slipped my key out slowly and turned the lock as quietly as I could.

The moment the door opened, I went straight for the bedroom. The door was half-open. Through the gap, I could see the room was empty.

I turned to the guest bedroom.

Pushed the door open. No one.

The study. The bathroom. The balcony. I even checked the storage closet.

Every room was silent. Not a soul.

Where was Ethel?

Just as the question formed in my mind, the kitchen door swung open.

Ethel stepped out wearing an apron, carrying a plate of food.

She spotted me and froze, surprised.

"Honey? You're home so early today?"

She set the plate down on the dining table and gave me a warm smile.

"I was planning to make a few more dishes before you got off work. You're back too soon. I'm not even finished yet."

I glanced past her into the kitchen. Chopped vegetables were lined up on the cutting board. A pot of pork tripe and lotus seed soup, my favorite, was simmering on the stove.

She'd clearly been in there for a while.

The tension drained out of me. I managed a small smile.

"Nothing going on at the office today, so I left early."

Ethel nodded. "Go rest for a bit, then. Let me finish the last two dishes and dinner will be ready."

She turned and headed back into the kitchen.

I watched her bustle around, her back to me, and the question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Why'd you park your car sideways across my spot today?"

Ethel glanced back at me, looking a little sheepish.

"Oh, I was worried you'd come home hungry, so I rushed up to cook for you. Didn't bother parking properlyjust pulled in sideways and ran upstairs."

Ethel's demeanor was perfectly natural.

Not a single word out of place.

After all, every day when I came home from work, a hot meal was waiting for me on the table.

Ethel was a surgical doctor. Her workload was enormous, yet no matter how busy she got, she always found time to come home and cook for me.

Sometimes I told her to take a break, to stop pushing herself so hard. But she always said the same thing:

"Your health isn't great. You get shaky and lightheaded the moment you skip a meal. I'm not taking any chances."

"I need to make sure there's a hot, fresh meal waiting for you the second you walk through that door. Nothing in the world is more important than that."

She went back to the stove.

Before long, dinner was ready.

Four dishes and a soup. Every single one, my favorite.

Ethel served me a bowl of rice and was just about to sit down and eat with me when her phone rang.

She picked up, and her brow furrowed instantly.

"Okay. I'm on my way."

She hung up, yanked off her apron, and turned to me with urgency written across her face.

"Honey, there's an emergency patient at the hospital. I'm the only one who can operate. I have to go."

She grabbed her car keys, pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and hurried out the door.

The moment it closed, the apartment fell silent.

I sat at the dining table, staring at the spread of food in front of me. I had no appetite.

The content of that post was lodged in my brain like a splinter I couldn't pull free.

Everything Ethel said, everything she didnone of it was wrong.

But something felt off.

I set down my chopsticks. Stood up. And as if pulled by some force I couldn't name, I walked into the bedroom.

Everything was immaculate. Ethel had made the bed with military precision, the corners tucked tight. At a glance, nothing was out of place.

But the more perfect it looked, the more uneasy I felt.

I started searching. Carefully. Methodically.

The bed. No strange smells. Nothing that didn't belong.

The closet. No sign that anyone had gone through it.

The nightstand. Nothing but our usual things.

Even the trash can was spotless. Not a speck of dust.

Everything was exactly the way it always was.

Was I really just overthinking this?

I shook my head and turned to leave the room.

That's when I saw it.

A short strand of bleached-blond hair, lying on the bed.

My hair was black.

This belonged to another man.

The realization hit me like a freight train. My skull buzzed, a high-pitched ringing drowning out every other thought.

I stood frozen, staring at that single strand of yellow hair for what felt like an eternity.

Then I pulled out my phone and scrolled back to the post.

Sure enough. One minute ago, the woman had replied to the comment she'd liked:

"I parked sideways in my husband's spot like you suggested. But he came home and didn't call me to move the carjust walked right in."

"If I hadn't heard the door, if I hadn't made my lover hide in time, I would've been caught."

The original commenter had replied instantly: "Sounds like your husband's got sharp instincts."

And the woman wrote back: "Tell me about it. I made an excuse and slipped out. I'm driving my lover home right now."

Ethel was cheating on me.

She'd brought her lover into our home.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking as I put the phone away and walked out of the bedroom.

I looked at the four dishes and the soup sitting on the table.

A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

Ethel remembered every single thing I liked. She remembered that I got shaky and lightheaded when I was hungry. She remembered that I loved when she kissed me goodbye before she left.

But she forgot the one thing that mattered most.

I despise betrayal.

How ironic.

A person could pour out her love for me with one breath and bring another man home with the next.

In that moment, I couldn't help but wonder. All those years of devotion I'd been so proud ofhow much of it was real, and how much was a lie?

When had it started between her and that man?

I sat at the dining table for a long time, trying to steady myself.

Then something occurred to me.

The second it did, I called my parents and asked them to come over.

They must have heard the urgency in my voice, because they arrived faster than I'd ever seen them move.

"What's going on, Donnie? You sounded frantic on the phone," my father said.

I didn't hold back. I told them everythingevery last detail about Ethel's affair, laid out in a single breath.

When I finished, my father looked like the ground had shifted beneath him.

"Donnie, is there any chance this is a misunderstanding? Everyone can see how good Ethel is to you. The girl adores you."

"And you know how her job worksshe's a surgeon. She's on call around the clock. Maybe there really was an emergency she had to handle?"

"That post... couldn't it just be a coincidence?"

My mother slammed her palm on the table.

"Coincidence? Are you out of your mind?"

"The post said the car was parked sideways. Ethel parked sideways."

"Donnie walked in without calling first. The post described the exact same situation."

"The post said the wife snuck out to drive the lover home. Ethel made up an excuse and left."

"And there just happened to be another man's hair on the bed? You think all of that is a coincidence?"

My father frowned. "But Ethel has treated Donnie like he's more important than her own life all these years"

My mother scoffed. "So what?"

"Just because she's been good to him means she can't cheat?"

"Every woman who's messing around on the side plays the perfect wife at home. That's the whole point."

"The better the act, the harder it is to see through."

My father had nothing to say to that.

My mother only grew angrier. "That Ethel Pruitt!"

"When she was chasing after Donnie, she knelt outside our door for three days and three nights. Knelt until her forehead was split open from bowing, swearing she'd love him with everything she had. That's the only reason I gave my blessing."

"And now? Two years of marriage, and she has the nerve to bring some man into their home? She's lost her mind!"

My mother was furious.

But what I felt more than anger was confusion.

Because my father was right.

All these years, Ethel had been incredibly good to me.

She was young, accomplished, and strikingly beautiful. There was never a shortage of men pursuing her. Even the hospital director's son had gone out of his way to court her, publicly declaring that if Ethel would be with him, he'd hand her the keys to the entire hospital.

Ethel hadn't so much as flinched.

She'd offended him for it, too. Nearly got blacklisted from the entire medical community.

Even then, she never wavered. She looked me in the eyes and said:

"I can lose everything else in this world. The one thing I can't lose is you."

It was precisely because I'd felt the depth of her devotionfelt it in my bonesthat none of this made sense.

What kind of man could make someone like Ethel Pruitt, a woman who treated loyalty like a religion, change her heart?

"Donnie, what do you want to do?"

My father looked at me, his expression grave.

I paused, then answered steadily. "I want to catch them in the act."

My mother's eyes sharpened with interest. "How?"

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to an app I'd never once opened.

It was a location-sharing app.

Back when we first got together, Ethel had insisted on installing a location-sharing app on her phone, just so I could check where she was anytime I wanted.

I'd refused at first. I trusted her. I thought tracking each other was the last thing two people in love needed.

But she wouldn't let it go. She said to think of it as insurance. If something ever happened to her, I'd be able to find her right away.

All these years, I'd been quietly proud that I'd never once opened that app.

Now I was about to use it to catch her cheating.

I drew a long breath and tapped the icon.

The screen loaded for a few seconds, then a map filled the display. A small green dot pulsed on it, drifting slowly along a road.

My father leaned over. "That's Ethel's live location?"

I nodded. Said nothing.

My mother was already grabbing her purse. "Let's go. Right now."

"I want to see for myself what kind of man could turn someone like Ethel Pruitt into this."

My father didn't say a word. He snatched the car keys off the counter and headed for the door.

Mom and I followed, piling into his car.

The entire ride, my mother couldn't stop talking.

"And to think I actually believed she loved you. Turns out she's been bringing men into your home while she cooks your dinner."

"Fifty-some years I've been alive, and I have never seen anything this disgusting."

"If she'd fallen out of love and asked for a divorce, fine. I'd be furious, but at least I'd respect her for being honest."

"But no. She played you for a fool. Strung you along like you were some kind of joke."

"If I catch her shacked up with another man today, I will tear them both apart with my bare hands."

Her eyes were rimmed red with fury.

When Ethel had first pursued me, my mother had been against it. She thought the Pruitt family's background wasn't good enough. It was Ethel who knelt outside our front door for three days and three nights, forehead split and bleeding from bowing against the stone, before my mother finally relented.

My father drove in silence. I caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. His brows were knotted tight, his jaw locked. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

About twenty minutes in, I glanced at my phone. The green dot had stopped moving.

"Faster, Dad."

He pressed the accelerator without a word, and we pulled up near Ethel's location moments later.

The first thing I saw was her car, parked in front of a villa.

I threw my door open and headed straight for the building.

What I didn't notice was the reaction behind me.

In the car, both my parents were staring at the villa. The color had drained from their faces at the exact same instant.

Before I'd taken ten steps, my father was out of the car and blocking my path.

"Donnie. Are you sure Ethel brought that man here?"

Something in his expression stopped me cold. It wasn't anger. It wasn't skepticism. It was something I couldn't name.

"What's wrong, Dad? Do you know this place?"

His mouth opened. No sound came out.

Then my mother caught up. She took one look at the villa, swallowed hard, and when she turned to me, her face was ashen.

"Donnie, let's go home."

"Stop looking into this."

I stared at her. "What?"

"Mom, you're the one who said we had to come. You were the most fired up. You said we had to catch them red-handed."

"They're inside that villa right now. Why are you suddenly telling me to drop it?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed my arm, her voice cracking, halfway to tears.

"Donnie, I'm begging you. Please. Let's just go home."

"Let this go. Please."

My father stepped forward, his face grave.

"Donnie, listen to your mother. Let's go back."

"We're doing this for your own good."

I was completely stunned.

I couldn't make sense of it. Just moments ago, my parents had been ready to storm in and fight for me. Now, after one look at this villa, they'd become entirely different people.

Was it the villa itself that was wrong?

Or was it the person inside?

Curiosity burned through me, thick and impossible to ignore. I shoved past my parents' protests, charged up to the front door, and knocked.

The Other Donald door opened almost immediately.

And the moment it did, I saw Ethel standing just inside the threshold.

And the man behind her.

The instant I made out his face, my eyes went wide and everything clicked into place.