Chapter 1
On my forty-third birthday, my husband was making lunch for another woman in the beach house where we'd promised to spend our retirement.
"Baby, your coffee's getting cold."
With his back to the door, Daniel nudged the sliced strawberries to the edge of a plate.
I stood there, the keys clenched in my hand.
At seven that morning, I'd asked if he could have something to eat with me before he left.
He'd said Mark was already waiting and he couldn't be late for their fishing trip, then picked up his jacket and kissed my forehead.
"We'll celebrate your birthday when I get back, honey."
It was eleven now.
He'd changed into a clean white T-shirt and was standing barefoot in another kitchen, his head bent as he carefully selected strawberries.
"Daniel."
The knife stopped against the cutting board.
He turned and saw me, his gaze moving from my face to the cake box, then down to the keys in my hand.
"What are you doing here?"
Footsteps sounded upstairs.
A woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing his blue shirt. The sleeves were rolled up twice, and the hem barely covered her thighs.
Her hand rested on the railing, and when she got a clear look at me, she stopped.
None of us spoke.
The "Surprise" I'd planned to say when he opened the door was still stuck in my throat.
I'd found the keys in his car that morning.
He'd left with a friend, and when I moved his car into the garage for him, I found the keys and a property management notice tucked beside the seat.
Harbor Point. 17 Seabreeze Lane.
The town where we'd spent our honeymoon.
I'd thought there was finally a happy explanation for the phone calls he took out of earshot and all those recent conversations about exactly when he would retire.
I'd bought a cake, picked out two mugs, and driven three hours on my own.
The whole way, I'd kept thinking, He remembered.
"So this is what you call fishing?"
Daniel set down the knife, wiped his hands, and walked toward me.
"Let's talk outside."
He reached for my arm. I stepped back, and the cake box hit the doorframe with a faint sliding sound from inside.
"Why outside?"
"Claire, don't start."
"Start what?"
His hand hung in the air.
The woman came down the last few steps.
She didn't hide or ask who I was, just looked at Daniel and waited for him to speak.
I turned to her.
"I'm his wife."
"I know who you are."
Her voice was quiet, but she didn't hesitate.
I looked at the shirt she was wearing. There was a small ink stain on the left cuff from when his pen had leaked last year. I'd soaked it for hours and still couldn't get the stain out..
"You know?"
"Daniel said he'd sort things out with you."
"Sort what out?"
She looked at him without answering.
Daniel stepped between us.
"Natalie, go upstairs for now."
It was the first time I'd heard her name.
She took hold of the banister but didn't move.
"Why should I go upstairs?"
"Let me handle this."
Then he turned back to me, lowering his voice.
"If you're angry, take it out on me. Leave her out of it."
I looked up at the man I'd shared my life with for twenty-two years.
I hadn't called anyone names or laid a hand on her.
I was still holding the cake, like a guest who hadn't been given permission to put down her gift.
"What do you think I'm going to do to her?"