One weekend, I was cleaning my apartment when I came across my husband's suitcase. The more I stared at it, the more curious I got. My instincts were shrieking suspicion, and finally I gave in and opened the suitcase. Staring right at me were nude photographs of a young east-Indian girl. Another secret unveiled. Mentally, I was telling myself that I was not prying into my husband 's privacy. Literally shaking from the pain mounting in my chest,
I searched deep into his clothes and found phone numbers. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks and I blinked several times to clear the blurriness. The fog of his deception evaporated in front of my eyes and I wept with my whole heart. Later that day, my sister and I played detectives, as it was time to solve this mystery. We began our investigation starting with our phone bills and then my parents'. One number that got my attention appeared on the day of my legal marriage. He had called her that night and it seemed like he had spend it with her. Gathering all the courage I could muster, I called the number.