Chapter 4
She helped me understand how to obtain the publicly available property information.
By lunchtime, we had an address.
By two, I knew the property had been purchased eleven months earlier by a limited liability company called Ashwood Retreat Holdings.
The registered organizer was a man named Daniel Foster.
Caleb's best friend.
His college roommate.
The godfather of our daughter.
I sat at my desk staring at Daniel's name.
Daniel had been at our house for Thanksgiving.
He had carved the turkey.
He had hugged me goodbye.
He had stood in my kitchen drinking coffee while I told him Caleb seemed distracted lately.
And he had looked me in the eye and said, “He's probably just stressed about work.”
I called Hannah.
When I told her, she said, “Please tell me you're not going to confront Daniel alone.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I'm going to let Caleb explain him.”
But first, I needed to speak to Laura.
Not to threaten her.
Not to beg.
And certainly not to compete with her.
I wanted to know whether she was lying to me too.
Laura answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice was softer than I expected.
“Laura? This is Claire.”
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
“Caleb's wife?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
I waited.
She whispered, “I didn't think you'd call me.”
“I didn't think I'd need to.”
Another silence.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Did he finally tell you?”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Tell me what?”
Laura didn't answer immediately.
“Claire, I don't want to hurt you.”
“Then don't lie to me.”
I heard her breathing.
Finally, she said, “He told me you were separated.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he had.
“He said you were living together for Sophie,” Laura continued. “That you had agreed to wait until she was older before making anything official.”
I looked around my office.
At the family photograph on my desk.
At the flowers Caleb had bought me for our anniversary.
At the calendar where I had written our dinner reservation for the following month.
“We weren't separated,” I said.
Laura began crying.
“I know that now.”
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“Eleven months.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Eleven months.
Not a few weeks.
Not a mistake.
Nearly a year.
“Did you know about the cabin?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you know Caleb was paying for it?”
Another pause.
“I thought it was his.”