My Wife's Vow to Another Man

On a weekend afternoon, sunlight filtered through the window, casting mottled shadows across the storeroom floor. I crouched in the cluttered corner, searching for the down jacket I wore last winter. My finger suddenly brushed against a cold metal case, making the pad of my finger go numb. I pulled it out and saw it was a black DV camcorder, its screen covered in a thin layer of dust — the same model my best friend, Jim Hill, used to use. When he moved last year, he mentioned he'd left something at my place and asked if I could look for it. I searched for a long time without success, never expecting it was hidden right here. On an impulse, I pressed the power button. The screen flickered a few times and then surprisingly lit up. There was no main menu; it went straight to a video. The footage showed a hotel room with a large bed. The curtains were tightly closed, and only the bedside lamp was on. My wife Susan Sanchez's hair was spread across the pillow, her profile turned toward the camera, Jim's hand resting on her waist. "Jim, let me be yours." Susan's voice held a smile, sweet to the point of cloying. Jim lowered his head and kissed her forehead. "What about Tristan? You're with him every day. You wouldn't forget me, would you?" "How could I? You said he's your best friend—that's why I've been trying so hard to win his favor!" Susan turned to the camera, both playful and serious. "I swear, in this life, I only want to be with Jim Hill. If I break this vow, may I never know happiness." The video suddenly cut off there, and the screen went black. The DV camera in my hand dropped to the floor with a "clack," its body striking the tiles with a sharp sound. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze instantly, chilling me from my fingertips to my chest. I stared at the DV camera, memories of Susan's usual self flashing before my eyes. She would wake early to kiss my cheek, make coffee for me, letting me wake up wrapped in the scent of my favorite brew. She would leave a light on when I worked late, hold my arm, and say, "Tristan, in this lifetime, I'll only be good to you." It turns out all that tenderness was just an act. I remember the first time I took Susan to meet Jim. Jim looked at her, his eyes filled with an inexplicable hostility: "You don't deserve Tristan." He even told me in private, "She's not simple. You should find someone better." At the time, I thought my good friend was overestimating me, and I laughed as I retorted, "You're just overthinking things. I'm just an ordinary guy, and Susan is really great." Now I realize, it wasn't that he thought I was good—it was jealousy, fear that I'd uncover their secret. I picked up the DV tape from the floor, dust on the screen brushed away by my fingertip, revealing blurry figures inside. My chest felt as if it was being repeatedly sliced by a dull knife, the pain making it hard to breathe.