All the receipts were from the same hotel, with the same room number… the dates went back months.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at them until my hands went numb.
I tried to find logical reasons for him to be traveling to Massachusetts, but nothing came to mind.
I counted them. Eleven trips he had lied about.
I felt a tightness in my chest. My hands trembled as I typed the hotel’s number into my phone.
“Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I gave Troy’s full name and explained that I was his new assistant. “I need to book his usual room.”
“Of course,” the receptionist said without hesitation. “He’s a regular guest. That room is practically reserved for him. When would he like to check in?”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I… I’ll call you back,” I managed to say, and hung up.
***
When Troy came home the next night, I was waiting for him at the kitchen table with the receipts. He stopped dead in the doorway, his keys still in his hand.
“What is this?” I asked.
He looked at the paper, then at me.
“Then tell me what it is.”
