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I knuckled back the tears that made the glossy photos I clutched in my hand little more than blurry smudges.

"How often?" I asked huskily, struggling to clear the tightness in my throat.

"Over the last month...every Tuesday and Thursday evenings" replied the private investigator in a neutral tone, "...and most weekends when you are away."

I nodded slowly, confirming in my own mind what I had only suspected over the last six months.

I had worked hard over the last decade to build up my own business, taking advantage of a childless marriage to put in the necessary hours to make my I.T business successful enough so that now, at age 45, I could consider taking a backseat to enjoy what I had created.

Only trouble was, by the time I had realised how much I had neglected my wife, no matter how noble the intentions, she had found solace elsewhere.

I blinked away the tears and looked more closely at the photographs while the investigator looked around my office, feigning interest in various items scattered throughout. ...

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