Chapter 2
When Grant came home at one in the morning, he did not smell like alcohol.
He had showered and changed his shirt. Even his hair was still slightly damp.
But Brooke's favorite woody perfume lingered beneath his collar, faint enough that I could smell it only when he came close.
"Why are you still awake?" He walked into the bedroom and bent to kiss my forehead. "Leg cramps again?"
His hand settled naturally over my stomach.
Our son kicked him, and Grant smiled at once. He crouched beside the bed and began talking to the baby, looking exactly like the husband I had known for the past nine months. The man who assembled the crib and carried an ultrasound picture in his wallet.
If I had not heard that recording, the sight might have comforted me again.
"How was the party?" I asked.
"Loud as hell. A few men get drunk, and suddenly they never stop talking." He propped another pillow behind my back. "I wanted to leave early, but Ryan and the others wouldn't let me go."
"Was Brooke there?"
Grant's hand paused for less than a second.
"She handled the arrangements with the club. She dropped everything off and left. Why are you asking about her all of a sudden?"
"The bakery called to say the cake had been delivered. I was worried a room full of men might forget to put it in the refrigerator."
"So the cake was from you." He smiled and brushed a finger over the tip of my nose. "Everyone said you were too thoughtful. I actually felt bad that I hadn't invited you."
Grant never looked away when he lied.
If anything, he watched me more closely and made his voice gentler, as though a convincing imitation of concern could make the truth irrelevant.
I followed his lie with another question. "At the twenty-week scan, were you really dealing with a client's broken heating system?"
This time, he went completely still.
"Why are you digging up the past?"
"I was organizing the ultrasound pictures today and noticed the date."
Grant sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Hannah, I know you've never gotten over me missing that appointment. But more than twenty families live in that building. If I hadn't gone, there would have been elderly people and children left in the cold. I can't abandon every other responsibility just because we're about to become parents."
By the end, he even managed to look hurt.
I nodded. "I was only asking."
He tucked the blanket around me, then went to the kitchen to warm some milk.
I used to call those small acts of care love.
Now I understood that they might have been nothing more than maintenance. As long as I was comfortable, quiet, and willing to trust him, he could keep both of his worlds.
After Grant fell asleep, I went downstairs.
First, I uploaded the recording to two different cloud accounts. Then I sent another copy to a new email address.
After that, I opened our shared credit card statement and found the day of my twenty-week scan.
At 11:46 a.m., Grant had charged $387 at a downtown hotel. At 2:00 p.m., he had spent another $64 at the hotel bar.
The hotel was twenty-seven miles from the apartment building he claimed to have visited, but only two blocks from Brooke's office.
I kept looking.
The night of our childbirth class, he said he had an emergency meeting with an investor. The statement showed a parking charge at the same hotel.
The day we were supposed to shop for baby supplies before Thanksgiving, he said his flight had been delayed. Brooke's social media showed a photograph of a fireplace. Reflected in the glass was the watch I had given Grant.
I did not wake him.
At three in the morning, I created a new folder and named it Before the Baby Comes.
The first file was the recording. The second was the credit card statement.
The third was a timeline of every appointment and class Grant had missed.
Just before dawn, I texted my sister, Emily.
"Are you free tomorrow? I need you to help me with something. Please don't tell Grant yet."