Chapter 3

She’ll Be Upset Quietly

The receipt for Rebecca’s pajamas was still in my husband’s car.

He had bought them eight days before Christmas.

I found it folded beneath a gas station receipt in the center console. David had always dropped receipts there instead of throwing them away. Until that morning, it had been one of the habits I found mildly irritating.

Now it gave me a date, a size, and the last four digits of his credit card.

Women’s Plaid Sleep Set—XS.

The same pajamas Rebecca had left in my laundry basket.

I photographed the receipt before putting it back exactly where I had found it.

For a few seconds, I tried to give him an explanation.

Maybe Rebecca had asked him to pick them up. Maybe she had paid him back. Maybe he had bought them for Emma and guessed the wrong size.

But none of those possibilities explained why he had told me the pajamas came from our bedroom.

They didn’t explain the wine either.

When I returned to the kitchen, David was still upstairs. I could hear the shower running through the ceiling.

The family tablet sat beside the coffee maker, plugged into its charger. Its screen lit up when I walked past.

A message notification appeared.

Rebecca: I think she knows something.

David’s account was still signed in.

I stood there with my hand around the car keys.

Opening the conversation would cross a line. I knew that. But David had already lied to me about bringing another woman clothes from my bedroom. I needed to know whether I was looking at one lie or something larger.

I opened the message.

The newest texts were from that morning, but I scrolled back to the week before Christmas.

Rebecca had sent him a link to the red plaid pajamas.

Rebecca: I found the same ones Claire bought for everyone.

David: Get your size. I’ll pick them up.

Rebecca: What are you going to tell her?

There was a four-minute gap before his answer.

David: That you spilled something on your dress.

I read it twice.

The wine had not been an accident. David had known Rebecca would stay for dinner. He had known what she would wear.

I kept scrolling.

Two days later, Rebecca had sent another message.

Rebecca: Do you think she’ll take the picture?

David: She won’t say no in front of the kids.

Rebecca: What if she wants to be in it?

David: I’ll ask her to hold the phone.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the tablet.

For years, David had called me the reasonable one. He praised me for staying calm when plans changed and for never putting Emma and Noah in the middle.

I had believed he respected me.

He had simply learned how to use it.

Another message appeared beneath the others.

Rebecca: She’s going to be upset.

David’s reply was immediate.

David: She’ll be upset quietly.

The receipt crumpled in my palm.

He had not hoped I would understand. He had not assumed I would forgive him.

He had planned around my silence.

The shower stopped upstairs.

I reached for my phone, intending to photograph the messages, but footsteps were already coming down the hall.

“Claire?”

David’s voice came from behind me.

I didn’t put down the tablet.

He walked into the kitchen, saw Rebecca’s name on the screen, and stopped.

His face changed when he read the last message.

“Why are you reading that?”