He Told Me He Was Going on a Work Trip—But His Location Shared Something Else Entirely
The Routine Goodbye
I'm Emma, 34, and I've been married to Daniel for seven years. This Monday morning feels like any other as I help him pack for what he says is another business trip to Chicago.
The routine is so familiar I could do it with my eyes closed—checking his toiletry bag for his electric razor, folding his dress shirts the way he likes them, and making sure he has enough socks for the four days he'll be gone.
"Don't forget your phone charger this time," I remind him, sliding it into the side pocket of his carry-on.
Daniel kisses me at the door, his aftershave lingering as he pulls away. "I'll call you tonight," he promises, the same words he always says.
I watch from the doorway as his suitcase wheels rumble down our driveway to the waiting Uber. The house always feels emptier when he's gone, but I've gotten used to these separations—the late-night calls where he complains about boring meetings and overpriced room service.
Seven years of marriage and dozens of business trips later, I've never had a reason to doubt him. Not once.
Which is why, when my phone pings with a notification later that day, I have no idea that my perfectly ordinary life is about to shatter into pieces.
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Business as Usual
After Daniel left, I settled into my usual routine. The house always feels too quiet when he's gone, like it's holding its breath until he returns.
I spent the morning teaching my online graphic design class, helping students understand the difference between good and great typography while my coffee went cold beside me.
Around six, my phone lit up with Daniel's face. "Hey, babe," he said, his voice dragging with that familiar work-trip exhaustion.
"Chicago is freezing." He launched into stories about meetings that ran long and executives who couldn't make decisions.
"I'm just eating a sad club sandwich in my room," he sighed, and I could picture him sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, tie loosened, room service tray balanced on his lap.
"The client is being difficult, but we're making progress." We talked about my day, about the leaky faucet I needed to call someone about, about nothing and everything the way couples do when distance separates them.
After we hung up, I scrolled through Netflix, settling on a show we'd normally watch together. It felt wrong watching without him, but that's marriage sometimes—carrying on with the mundane parts of life while the other person is away.
I had no idea that this ordinary evening was the last normal moment I would have for a very long time.
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The Notification
The next day, I was folding laundry and tidying up our living room—trying to keep busy while Daniel was away.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I glanced over to see a notification from our location-sharing app.
We'd set it up years ago after I had that flat tire on the highway at night, and honestly, I barely noticed it anymore.
Something made me tap on it this time though. Maybe it was boredom or just habit, but when the map loaded, my heart literally stopped for a second.
Daniel's little blue dot wasn't anywhere near Chicago. It was hovering over Los Angeles. I blinked hard and refreshed the app, thinking it must be glitching.
The blue dot remained stubbornly in California. I sat down slowly on the couch, the half-folded towel still in my hands, as questions flooded my mind.
Why would he lie about where he was going? Was this some kind of technical error? I checked again, zooming in on the map.
The location was precise—a hotel in downtown LA. My throat tightened as I remembered his call last night, how confidently he'd described the Chicago weather, the meetings, the room service.
Seven years of marriage, and suddenly I felt like I didn't know the man I was married to at all.
Los Angeles?
I stare at my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I zoom in and out of the map. This has to be a mistake.
I close the app completely, count to ten, and open it again. The blue dot—Daniel's dot—still hovers over Los Angeles, nowhere near the Chicago he described in such detail last night.
'This is crazy,' I whisper to the empty living room. I Google 'location sharing app glitches' and scroll through forum posts about technical errors, desperately seeking an explanation that doesn't involve my husband lying to my face.
But the knot in my stomach tightens with each passing minute. I try calling him, then hang up before it connects. What would I even say?
'Hey, honey, quick question—are you actually in a completely different state than you told me?' I refresh the app again. And again. Los Angeles.
Still Los Angeles. The same Daniel who described Chicago's 'freezing wind' and his 'sad club sandwich' is apparently basking in Southern California sunshine.
Seven years of marriage, and I've never once questioned his business trips. Now I'm questioning everything.
I pick up my phone again and open our text thread, typing and deleting message after message. Finally, I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling, the question echoing in my mind: If he lied about where he is...
what else has he been lying about?
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