Eight months after our wedding, I still thought my life made sense. Emily and I had settled into a quiet rhythm. Work, dinner, small weekend trips, the kind of routine people call stable. I trusted her completely. I never checked her phone, never looked at her messages, never questioned where she went. I believed trust meant giving someone space without suspicion. That Saturday afternoon, Emily went out to meet two co-workers for lunch.
I stayed home to free up space on the laptop because it kept running out of storage. Most of our devices were synced, so her photos and videos always ended up on the same drive. It wasn’t intentional. It was just how we set it up when we moved in. I opened the main folder and saw hundreds of random names, old backups, shared albums, vacation shots. Nothing unusual. Then I noticed one I had never seen before. Bachelorette, do not open.
