“He’s obviously trying to get you into bed!”
“Mark, stop being ridiculous. I’m married!”
“Then why do you keep being so friendly with him?”
“Because I’m trying to be polite!”
“Tell him to leave you alone.”
“I already turned down his invitation!”
We argued until neither of us was listening.
Finally, Jessica grabbed her purse.
“I need some space. I’m going downstairs.”
It was around 9:30 p.m.
“Fine,” I said.
She stood in the doorway, as though waiting for me to say something else.
I didn’t.
Then she left.
That was the last time I saw my wife alive.
At first, I assumed Jessica would return after cooling down.
But an hour passed. Then another.
I called repeatedly.
Every call went unanswered.
By midnight, I was downstairs searching the bar, lobby, and outdoor seating areas.
The bartender recognized her.
“She was talking to that wealthy gentleman earlier,” he told me.
