Chapter 3

"Dad's gone," Simon said, taking my hand. "You need to take care of yourself."

"And Alison?" I asked. "How is she?"

Simon hesitated, his gaze shifting. "She's still in the ICU. The doctors say things aren't looking promising."

I closed my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks.

"How long have they been together?" I asked softly. "Simon, tell me. Did you know all along?"

There was silence.

A long, heavy silence.

Then Simon finally spoke, "Mom, Alison was just someone Dad used to know. They—"

"I want to see the dashcam footage," I cut him off. "There are cameras in the garage, and the car has a dashcam. I want to see everything."

Simon's hand stiffened.

He said, "Mom, those things—"

"I want to see it," I said, opening my eyes and locking my gaze on him. "Simon, I need to know when my husband started betraying me. If you won't show me, I'll call the police and have them investigate."

"Mom!" Simon shouted.

"You have one hour," I said, my voice trembling with tears but firm.

I added, "If I don't see the surveillance and dashcam footage by then, I'll call Gavin from the Major Crimes Unit. Remember? Your dad played golf with him last year."

Simon's expression shifted.

He stared at me for what felt like ages, as if I were a stranger.

Finally, he said, "I'll take care of it."

After he left the room, Celeste poured me some water and sat by my side, her voice gentle as she tried to comfort me. I held the cup, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the warmth of it.

"Celeste," I spoke up suddenly, "don't you think people can be so absurd sometimes?"

Celeste blinked in surprise. "Estelle, what are you saying?"

"I was married to Norman for forty years. I cared for his parents, raised our son, managed the family, and was the perfect Mrs. Riley," I said, gazing out at the sky as it slowly brightened.

I continued, "I thought at the very least, we respected each other. But in the end? He died naked, holding another woman in his arms."

Celeste took my hand. "Estelle, try not to dwell on it."

"How could I not?" I turned to her, tears spilling over again. "Celeste, if Simon ever did something like this to you, what would you do?"

Celeste's gaze wavered, her eyes growing teary. "Please don't say that. Simon would never do that."

I patted her hand and said nothing more.

An hour later, Simon returned, carrying a laptop.

He set it down in front of me and opened it.

The screen lit up, showing the garage surveillance footage. The timestamp read 5 PM yesterday.

Norman's car pulled into the garage, with Alison in the passenger seat. They got out, talked by the car, and then suddenly embraced and started kissing.

Then they opened the car door and climbed into the back seat.

The camera angle was limited, but I could see the car rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm.

The whole thing lasted nearly forty minutes.

Then the car went still.

Another twenty minutes passed before I showed up on the footage. I walked into the garage, searching for something, then stopped beside Norman's car and pulled out my phone to make a call.

And then the ambulance showed up.

I watched it all, my face blank.

"What about the dashcam footage?" I asked.

Simon pressed his lips together and clicked on another file.

It was audio.

At first, it was some casual talk about the weather and everything. Then Alison started crying, saying she never should've left him, and she's been regretting it every day for forty years.

Norman comforted her, saying he never forgot her.

Then there were some ambiguous sounds, like gasps and moans.

And finally, Norman let out a satisfied sigh. "Alison, you're the only one who really understands me. Estelle is such a blockhead. These forty years, I've just been—"

The recording cut off abruptly right there.

With the engine running nonstop, the carbon monoxide level rose rapidly, and the two of them soon lost consciousness.

I shut the laptop and looked up.

Simon avoided my gaze.

"So," I said softly, "you knew all along, didn't you?"

Simon answered, "Dad and Alison were just—"

"Tell me. Did you know all along?" I cut him off, my voice rising sharply.

Simon said nothing.

His silence was all the answer I needed.

I let out a bitter laugh, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Oh, so great," I said, wiping my eyes. "My husband betrayed me for forty years, and my own son helped him hide it. Simon, what a wonderful son I raised."

Simon tried to defend him. "Mom, Dad had his reasons."

"Get out," I said, my voice icy. "I don't want to see you right now."