A Stranger Warned Me Not To Go Home. I Found A Strange Silk Scarf In My Hallway. How Do I Catch My Husband Red-handed

The Parking Lot Stakeout

When she woke up at 6:00 a.m. to the sound of her alarm, her decision had fully formed. Today she would learn the truth by any means necessary.

Valerie wrote her husband a short text message: “Went in early inventory. Wake Chris up and make sure he gets to school. I’ll be back in the evening.”

She sent it, grabbed her purse and keys, put on her jacket, and quietly left the apartment.

Valerie got in her car and drove across town to the business center where the office of Greg’s and his partner, Nicholas Fischer’s, logistics company was located. On the way, she stopped at a coffee machine and got a large cappuccino.

At 8:00 a.m., she arrived at her own job and asked her boss for a personal day due to family circumstances. She filled out the request, left the building, and headed to her husband’s office.

There was a fairly large parking lot nearby; that’s exactly where she settled, taking a spot in advance with a good view of the entrance. It was 8:30 a.m. Greg usually got to work at 9, sometimes a little earlier.

The wait was not long. At 8:45 a.m., a familiar gray Toyota Camry—Greg’s car—pulled into the parking lot.

Valerie tensed, watching intently. Her husband didn’t notice her among the sea of cars. He parked in his usual spot, not far from the entrance. He turned off the engine but didn’t get out.

Valerie frowned. A minute passed, another. Greg was sitting behind the wheel, leaning toward the passenger seat.

Valerie took out her phone, activated the camera, and zoomed in. What she saw hit her harder than a slap.

There were two people in the car: Greg and a young woman, clearly much younger than Valerie herself. They were sitting close, very close, and they were kissing. Not a polite peck on the cheek—a real, long, passionate kiss between two people who didn’t care if they were seen.

Valerie pressed record. Her fingers no longer trembled; they had turned to stone. She recorded everything: how Greg embraced the girl by the shoulders, how she ran her hand through his hair, how they laughed, their foreheads touching.

Unveiling the Mistress

The girl got out of the car. Valerie kept recording.

The girl was dressed stylishly: a short skirt, a fitted sweater, a beige cashmere coat, high boots. A slim figure, a confident walk, a youthful, almost girlish face with a fresh blush. Twenty years old, maybe 22 at most.

Greg got out too, locked the car. They stood next to each other for a few more seconds, and Valerie managed to take a dozen clear photos from different angles.

Then the girl waved and headed for the parking lot exit, where a taxi was already waiting for her. Greg followed the girl with his eyes, smiling.

Valerie started the car and carefully followed the taxi, keeping her distance. The driver took the girl to the city center, to one of the modern residential complexes. Valerie memorized the address, took photos of the building.

Now she needed to find out who she was.

Valerie returned home only around noon. She sat down at the computer, opened the photos she had taken that morning, and zoomed in on the girl’s face. Who was she? A colleague? A client? A casual lover?

Valerie opened social media and began the search. First, she went to Greg’s page. She methodically went through the list, carefully looking at the avatars.

Suddenly, she found the familiar face: the girl from the parking lot. Angela Fischer.

Valerie clicked on the profile. The page was public. About Me: 20 years old, Junior in the Business School, enjoys photography and travel. And most importantly, under the family section: Nicholas Fischer was listed as Father.

Valerie sighed heavily. The partner’s daughter. Greg was dating his business partner’s daughter, a 20-year-old kid who could be his own daughter. This was a catastrophe. Not just infidelity—this destroyed the business, the partnership, all ties.

Valerie opened Nicholas Fischer’s page. The last joint photo was from August: Nicholas with Angela at a restaurant. The caption: “With my beloved daughter, my reason for everything.”

So the father didn’t know about the romance. And the scarf—that silk scarf in the entryway—must have belonged to Angela.

The Meeting with Nicholas

That left one option: the hardest and the most correct one. Valerie took out her phone and found Nicholas Fischer’s contact.

She wrote a message: “Nicholas, good afternoon. This is Valerie, Greg’s wife. I need to meet with you in person about an important matter concerning Greg and your family. It’s urgent. When could you spare half an hour?”

The reply came 5 minutes later: “Valerie, hello. Has something serious happened? I can meet today at 6:00 p.m. at the Central Cafe.”

At 6:00 p.m., Valerie was ready. She had changed into a business suit; she wanted to look serious, professional. She took the folder with the documents and drove to the meeting.

Nicholas appeared exactly at 6. A tall, well-built man in an expensive suit.

“Valerie,” he shook her hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You’re on time. Thank you for making time.”

Nicholas sat across from her and looked at Valerie expectantly. “I’m listening. Your message worried me. Did something happen to Greg?”

Valerie silently opened the folder and placed a photograph on the table: Greg and Angela in the car, the kiss.

Nicholas froze. He picked up the photo, brought it closer to his eyes. His face didn’t change, but Valerie noticed how his jaw muscles tensed.

“Where was this?”

“Morning. Your office parking lot, 8:45 a.m.”

She laid out the other photographs. “I have a video,” Valerie added quietly. “If you want, I can show it to you.”

“How long has this been going on?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know for sure. Yesterday I found this in our entryway.” She placed the scarf on the table. “A woman’s scarf. Not mine. This morning I decided to check. I went to the office and saw…”

Nicholas nodded, putting the scarf in his pocket. “This is my daughter’s scarf. I bought it for her myself.”

Nicholas frowned. “Does my daughter know that Greg is married?”

“I’m not sure, but I suspect he fed her a story about an impending divorce.”

“Are you and Greg having problems in your family?”

“No,” Valerie shook her head. “Or rather, I thought so until yesterday. We live a normal life. We have a son, 14 years old. Greg comes home, has dinner with us… He behaves like a loving husband and father. No signs that he’s planning to get a divorce.”

Nicholas ran a hand over his face. He exhaled. “Valerie, I didn’t know. If I had known, I would have stopped this long ago.”

“I understand. That’s why I came to you, not to your daughter. Angela is in love; she’ll defend Greg. And he’s a master of lies.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to talk to your daughter. Show her the truth. Protect her from his manipulations. And you… I will file for divorce, but I need evidence for the court, for the division of assets. And I need Angela to stop seeing Greg; otherwise, he’ll keep lying to both of us.”

“I’ll talk to my daughter tonight,” Nicholas nodded slowly. “And then I will reconsider my partnership with Greg. I can’t work with a person I no longer trust.”

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