Chapter 1

My husband David Bennett brought a coworker home for dinner, claiming they were pulling an all-nighter on a project and it made sense since they lived in the same direction.

Emily Carter played the perfect guest, helping me clear the dinner plates.

Then she stepped into the kitchen.

She marched straight for the plastic wrap hidden in the third drawer.

She didn't scan the room, didn't ask for help, and didn't even hesitate.

We'd only owned this place for four months, and my own mother still had to ask where we kept the glasses.

When she finished covering the leftovers, she slid the box back into place effortlessly, like she owned the joint.

I kept my mouth shut.

Then I watched her lean over and wipe the back of the countertop, hitting the exact corner I always missed—she cleared it easily with her longer reach.

David always handled that specific corner during his weekend deep cleans.

I handed her a mug of coffee and smiled. "You've been here before, haven't you?"

Her hands locked up for a split second before her eyes darted to David.

David dropped his fork, the metal clattering against the floor.

I grabbed the mug of coffee and poured it directly down the drain.

"Looks like you already know how to run this house, so why don't you just keep it? I'll have my lawyer mail the divorce papers tomorrow," I said.

*****

David's fork hit the floor with a sharp clatter.

The only sound left in the living room was the faint hum of the dining room chandelier.

Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, still clutching the dish towel, her face frozen in shock.

David was the first to speak. "What did you just say to me?"

I leaned against the sink, flicking the water off my hands.

"I said, we're getting a divorce."

"Claire, are you out of your mind? I just brought a colleague home for dinner."

I interrupted him, "Your colleague went straight for the plastic wrap in the third drawer, like she knew exactly where it was."

David's lips moved, but he couldn't get a word out.

Emily set the dish towel down, her voice trembling. "Claire, I've only visited once, during a department cookout."

I turned to look at her. "A department cookout?"

"I've only owned this house for four months, and the only housewarming party I ever threw was for my parents and my best friend."

"David's team happy hour was at the tavern across the river. He even showed me the photos last month."

Emily stayed quiet.

David stood up. "Let me explain."

"No need," I said, snapping open a heavy-duty trash bag and scraping the leftover food straight off the plates.

"Emily, stay right there. I'll finish cleaning up, then you two can have the floor," I said.

David lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. "Claire, do you have to do this right now?"

"Do what?" I shot back.

"Make this massive, dramatic scene," he said.

I let out a sharp laugh.

"You bring another woman into my house, she knows her way around my kitchen, she's probably been in my bed, and I'm the dramatic one for pointing it out?" I asked.

"Who the hell said anyone was in our bed?" David's voice cracked.

I ignored him, crouched down to pick up the fork he'd dropped, and tossed it into the sink.

Then I straightened up and looked at Emily.

"You wiped that countertop like it's second nature to you. That spot is just out of my reach."

"David cleans it every weekend. Are you here every weekend too?"

Emily's face went pale.

She glanced at David, her eyes wide with panic and desperation.

David rushed over and grabbed my arm. "Alright, what do you want now?"

"I already said. The divorce papers will be here tomorrow."

"Claire! You're really going to divorce me just because of a drawer? Do you hear how crazy you sound?" David shouted.

I yanked my arm free, walked over to the entryway, and grabbed my coat.

"It's not just about the drawer," I said.

I turned back to look at him.

I continued, "It started back in March when you went on a business trip. Suddenly there was a strange claw clip sitting on the bathroom counter.

"Last month, you allegedly worked until two in the morning, and your shirt smelled like lavender fabric softener, but we only use unscented detergent.

"Then I found empty cups of zero-sugar yogurt in the trash, the exact kind I never buy."

David's face finally fell.

"I wasn't sure before, so I never said anything. But now I know for sure," I said.

I opened the door.

"You two enjoy the house. I'm crashing at my mom's," I said.

As the door clicked shut behind me, I heard the crash of glass from inside.

I didn't go to my mom's place.

Instead, I drove to the Southside Hotel and booked a king-sized room.

Sitting on the bed, I put my phone on silent.

David called me seventeen times and flooded my phone with over thirty texts.

The first few were just him desperately scrambling to cover his tracks.

David: [She's only been here once, I swear.]

David: [Claire, please don't do anything crazy.]

David: [Where are you? Just tell me where you are. I'll come get you.]

Then the panic completely set in.

David: [Why are you ignoring my calls?]

David: [Can't you be a little more mature about this?]

David: [You're seriously blowing up our marriage over a misunderstanding? Think about our kid.]

The last one lit up my screen at 1:30 AM.

David: [Alright, try to calm down. We'll sit down and talk things through tomorrow.]

I didn't reply to a single one.

I didn't cry.

I just sat there, going over everything that had happened in the past six months, one thing after another.

Back in March, he said he was going on a business trip for four days. When I tried to pack his suitcase, he told me not to bother. He'd do it himself. He'd never done that before.

In April, he suddenly got into working out. He said it was because his company health check didn't look good. But before that, he couldn't even be bothered to jog around the block.

In May, he changed his phone password. When I asked, he said the system update reset it automatically.

At the start of June, he worked overtime two weekends in a row. When he came home, his hair was still wet. He said there was a gym at the office, so he just showered there after work.

I believed him back then.

Looking back now, none of it adds up.

But I chose to trust him. Because we'd been married five years, and we had a three-year-old daughter. Because I quit my job to be a full-time mom. Because I never thought he was that kind of man.

My phone lit up again.

It wasn't David.

It was a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: [Claire, this is Emily. I'm so sorry about tonight. But I want you to know, there's really nothing going on between David and me. It's not what you think.]

I stared at that text for a long time.

Then I remembered last week when I'd snooped through David's contact list.

He'd saved her under the name "Emily - Project Vendor."

But I vividly recalled a notification that had popped up on his screen last month, sent by a contact that was just a single lemon emoji.

The preview only showed the first few words: "Tonight, same old—"

I never saw the rest of it.

He locked his phone right away, saying it was just spam.

"Same old place."

"Tonight, same old place."

That "same old place" was actually my house.