I Recorded My Girlfriend for Two Weeks Straight. What I Caught Was Darker Than Cheating.

The moment I decided to hide the recorder in her car, I knew I was crossing something. I knew it at the AutoZone where I bought the little USB voice-activated thing for thirty-eight dollars. I knew it when I velcro-taped it under her passenger seat, where the cup holder's shadow would hide it. I knew it driving home, my hands gripping the steering wheel too hard, rehearsing the lie I'd have to tell if she ever found out. But Riley had been lying to me for eleven weeks. And the worst part of lying is not the lie itself — it's the way a liar looks at you when they think you've believed it. I had watched Riley look at me like that dozens of times. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her. But on Tuesday nights, for three months straight, her story about "book club with girls from work" had too many holes in it. I didn't know yet that what she was hiding was the kind of thing that doesn't end when you confront it.