I spent the next few days quietly collecting small things.
A photo from the café's CCTV a friend slipped me.
A billing receipt from a hotel that matched a date in my diary.
A screenshot of her online shopping order delivered to a pickup point instead of our home.
Each item was like a nail. The picture of their affair was almost complete, but I wanted the timing perfect. No rush. No sloppy move.
I even started building a hidden folder — labeled it "WorkDocs" — to store everything. One day, if needed, I'd open it like a box of knives.