Chapter 5
Richard's phone had been returned in a clear hospital bag.
Claire had left it unopened on the kitchen counter for four days. She had been afraid to touch the last object he had carried while he was alive.
That changed after she heard Vanessa's voice in the birthday video.
Claire removed the phone from the bag and connected it to a charger. The screen lit up with Richard's photograph of their house.
Then it asked for six numbers.
Claire tried their wedding anniversary.
Wrong.
She tried Richard's birthday.
Wrong again.
The back door opened before she could make a third attempt. Ethan entered with his old key and stopped when he saw the phone in her hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I need the contact information for some of your father's friends."
"I already notified everyone."
"I may have missed someone."
Ethan set his keys on the counter. "You're looking for Vanessa."
Claire did not deny it.
His shoulders dropped. "Mom, going through Dad's phone isn't going to make you feel better."
"Neither is being lied to."
"No one is lying to you."
Claire turned the screen toward him. "What's the password?"
"I don't know."
"You worked with him every day."
"That doesn't mean I searched his phone."
"I didn't say you did."
Ethan looked away.
Claire waited.
Finally, he sighed. "Try my birthday."
She entered the month, day, and year Ethan had been born.
The phone unlocked.
For one brief moment, the sight hurt in a different way. Richard had used their son's birthday to protect his private life. Once, Claire would have found that sweet.
Now she wondered what else it had protected.
Ethan reached for the phone. "Give it to me. I'll find the contacts."
Claire moved it out of his reach.
"I can do it."
His mouth tightened. "Don't read things you'll regret."
"Did your father ask you to say that too?"
Ethan picked up his keys.
"I'm not doing this again."
He left through the same door without saying goodbye.
Claire stood alone in the kitchen, holding Richard's phone.
The recent call list contained only a few names. Ethan. The office. The hospital. Several numbers she did not recognize.
Vanessa was not there.
For a moment, Claire wondered if Ethan had been right. Perhaps she was trying to force a larger truth out of a few photographs and one cruel seating card.
Then the phone connected to the house Wi-Fi.
A message appeared.
Backup available.
Claire carried the phone to Richard's laptop. The computer already remembered his account. After she entered the same password, the most recent backup opened.
She selected the call history.
It took several seconds to load.
Then Vanessa Cole's name appeared.
Not once.
Again and again.
Some weeks, Richard had called her every day. On other days, there were four or five calls between them. A two-minute call in the morning. Twenty-three minutes at lunch. Another call late at night.
Claire scrolled backward.
Three months.
Six months.
One year.
The calls continued.
She found one made at 6:12 on Christmas morning. Claire remembered waking alone and finding Richard's side of the bed cold. He had returned half an hour later and told her he had needed air.
He had spent twenty-six minutes speaking to Vanessa.
On Claire and Richard's wedding anniversary, he had left dinner early because of an emergency at the office.
There were three calls to Vanessa that night.
Claire pressed one hand against her mouth.
For years, she had believed Richard's work demanded too much from him. She had defended him when Ethan complained that his father was never home. She had learned to eat dinners that grew cold and sleep through doors opening after midnight.
Now every excuse was changing shape.
Work had been Vanessa.
Emergencies had been Vanessa.
The empty space beside Claire in bed had belonged to Vanessa too.
Her vision blurred. She wiped her eyes angrily and kept scrolling.
She wanted to stop.
She could not.
If she stopped now, she would return to the marriage Richard had written for her—a marriage in which he worked too hard, loved quietly, and always came home in the end.
Claire reached the week he died.
Vanessa called him Monday morning.
Richard called her Tuesday night.
They spoke twice on Wednesday. There were no calls on Thursday or Friday.
Then Claire reached Saturday.
The day Richard died.
His final outgoing call had begun at 7:06 p.m.
Vanessa Cole.
Eighteen minutes.
Less than an hour later, Ethan had called Claire and told her that Richard had collapsed and been taken to the hospital.
Claire stared at the time until the numbers blurred.
No one had told her where Richard had been before the ambulance came.
But his last call told her who might know.