Chapter 2

When I returned home at nine that morning, Graham was frying eggs in the kitchen.

He clearly had not expected to see me. The spatula paused in his hand.

"I thought you were going straight to the Westside branch after your appointment."

"It ended earlier than I expected."

I placed my purse on a dining chair.

The white envelope containing the ultrasound picture was tucked into the innermost pocket.

Graham crossed the room and pressed his palm to my forehead.

"Why are you so pale?"

The gesture was painfully natural.

Three years earlier, after my egg retrieval, this same hand had tucked the blanket around me. He had gotten up four times that night to bring me water.

I used to believe a man whose eyes turned red when I was in pain could not love me and deceive me with the same steady care.

Yet he still remembered to check my temperature when I looked unwell.

And he could still look into my eyes and tell me the $50,000 my mother left me had gone to his company.

"My stomach is a little upset," I said.

"Then do not go to work. I will make you something bland."

He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and returned to the stove.

I sat at the table and watched his back.

"Did your company ever give you paperwork for the partnership buy-in last year?"

The lid of the pan struck the stovetop with a soft metallic sound.

Graham did not turn around immediately.

"Why are you asking about that now?"

"I remember you said the entire amount had to be paid by Friday."

Only then did he face me.

"It was paid. Once the money cleared, the shares were registered in my name."

"Where is the ownership certificate?"

His fingers tightened around the spatula, but his voice did not change.

"It is in the company's internal system. Why are you looking for it?"

"I was organizing our tax records last night. I did not see any documents for the investment."

Graham came over and crouched beside my chair.

"Accounting never sent a paper copy," he said. "When this quarter's distribution comes through, I will bring you the statement and the rest of the paperwork."

He took my hand.

My wedding band pressed sharply into my skin.

The $50,000 had never entered his company.

His so-called buy-in had been my mother's inheritance, divided into fifty-two payments and spent on another woman.

"All right," I said.

Graham exhaled and kissed the back of my hand.

At ten fifteen, he went upstairs to change into a suit.

"The vendor moved lunch up," he said. "I will try to be home early tonight."

Before leaving, he kissed my forehead, exactly as he always did.

As soon as the lock clicked behind him, I carried my laptop into the guest room.

I imported all fifty-two transactions into a spreadsheet and sorted them by date, amount, and memo.

The first transfer contained only two words in the memo field: Oak & Vine.

A map search led me to a restaurant twenty miles outside downtown.

Its website was advertising a one-year anniversary package with a window table, champagne, and a small cake topped with the number of years being celebrated.

Transfer six said window deposit. Transfer eighteen said Wednesday, twelve thirty. Transfer thirty-six said our usual table.

I compared every entry with our family calendar.

The dates matched.

On every Wednesday marked work from home, Graham had sent money to account 7319 around noon.

On three of those Wednesdays, he had claimed he was sick and needed to isolate in his office so he would not infect me.

Once, I had even asked a coworker to leave soup at our front door for him.

Transfer nineteen was made at noon that same day.

The memo read: Lunch for two.

At seven that evening, Graham had finally come out of the office and put his arms around me, saying a long nap had helped.

I marked that date in red.

The following morning, the attorney returned my call.

She told me to preserve the original bank statements, tax records, property documents, and insurance information. I was not to move money out of our joint accounts without advice, and I should not confront Graham until every piece of evidence had been backed up.

Then I told her I had just confirmed my pregnancy.

"Does your husband know?"

I looked at my purse.

"Not yet."

"Do you have somewhere safe to stay?"

"I can stay with my sister."

After the call, I texted my sister and asked her to clear out her guest room.

Over the next several days, I copied our tax returns, mortgage records, and insurance policies. I also created a timeline matching each of the fifty-two transfers to its Wednesday.

When the Wednesday mentioned in the latest memo arrived, Graham marked work from home on the family calendar as usual.

At 11:05 a.m., my best friend, Daphne, sent me two pictures from a fitting room.

We had been roommates in college. During the past three years, whenever a test brought bad news, she was the one who quietly removed baby magazines from my table and told me that next time might be different.

Meeting a very important client this afternoon, she wrote. Black or green?

I stared at the pictures for several seconds.

Green, I replied. It suits you better.

She sent back a red heart.

At 11:45, I arrived at Oak & Vine.

I did not wait outside his office or follow his car.

The transfer history had already told me where he would be.

Using the times in the memos, I reserved a table positioned diagonally across from the window seats.

A row of waist-high plants separated the two tables, making it difficult to see me from the entrance.

At 12:27, Graham's car stopped outside the window.

He got out but did not enter right away.

He opened an umbrella, walked around to the passenger side, and held the door for a woman.

The umbrella hid her face.

All I could see was the hem of a green dress.

At the restaurant entrance, Graham stopped.

He looked down and twisted the wedding ring on his finger.

The man who had placed that ring on my hand six years ago stood outside the restaurant, removed his own, and slipped it into his suit pocket.

Then he took the woman's hand and led her inside.