Chapter 14
Fourteen years together.
We had survived bad jobs, family funerals, one miscarriage we almost never spoke about, a flooded basement, money problems in our twenties, and the long ordinary middle years where marriage becomes less about romance and more about remembering which groceries the other person likes.
I had believed ordinary meant safe.
Rachel had called it routine.
Or maybe Lucas had.
I still didn’t know exactly how that conversation happened.
For several days, I thought about asking.
Then I realized I didn’t need every sentence.
There is a point where information stops becoming clarity and begins becoming self-harm.
I already knew enough.
Lucas had enjoyed being wanted by someone new.
He had enjoyed speaking to someone who knew him without the weight of shared bills, chores, grief, obligations, and history.
Rachel got the version of him that could be interesting for an hour.
I got the version who needed reminding to call the plumber.
That didn’t make what they did romantic.
It made it easy.
Lucas called Saturday afternoon.
I let it ring.
He texted.
I’m at Mark’s. I won’t come by unless you ask me to.
For once, he was giving me information instead of a story.
I appreciated that.
I hated that I appreciated it.
Sunday morning, Daniel Warren called again.
I almost didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Daniel.”
My stomach tightened.
“Hi.”
“I just wanted to check in.”
He sounded embarrassed again.
“I’m sorry about Thursday.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I feel like I stepped into something.”
“You did.”
Silence.
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
He exhaled.
“I hope everything is okay.”
I looked around the empty kitchen.
“No.”
The word surprised both of us.
Then I added, “But I think it will be.”
That was the first moment I realized I believed it.
Not that my marriage would be okay.
I didn’t know that.
I meant me.
Daniel said he was sorry.
Before we hung up, I asked him one question.
“Has Lucas taken other personal days recently?”
Daniel paused.
My heart began beating faster.
“Not that I remember.”
“Can you check?”
He hesitated.
I immediately regretted asking.
“That’s probably not something I should…”
“You’re right.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I understand.”
We ended the call.
I stood there afterward thinking about how quickly betrayal can turn a person into an investigator.
I had almost asked my husband’s employer to audit his attendance so I could reconstruct my marriage.