Chapter 1
"Working overtime? Who took this photo?" I pushed my phone toward David Carter.
On the screen, he was sitting in a restaurant with a young woman. Candlelight, red wine, and roses set the mood.
It was Christmas.
David had told me this morning that the company was busy at the end of the year and he had to work overtime.
"This..." David froze for a second. "It's a team dinner. Year‑end stuff."
"Stuff?" I laughed. "Stuff like feeding her steak?"
In the photo, he was holding a piece of steak on a fork, lifting it right to her lips.
"Overtime. You wouldn't get it." David set the phone down, his tone back to normal. "A coworker snapped it. Don't read into it."
I looked at him.
Five years.
I'd never really seen him.
*****
The living room was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking.
I sat on the couch, and David stood across from me, still holding his glass of water.
"Tell me the truth." My voice was calm. "Who is she?"
"A coworker." David took a sip of water. "She's new, Winona Reed, from our department. It's the end of the year; everyone's pushing for results, so we had dinner together. It's normal."
"Normal?" I zoomed in on the photo, pointing at his hand. "So feeding her is normal?"
"Uh," David paused. "She broke up with her boyfriend and was feeling pretty low, so I was trying to cheer her up."
"Cheer her up?" It suddenly struck me as funny.
Five years of marriage, and the day I gave birth, he was out drinking with clients. When our kid had a high fever, 104 degrees, he said he couldn't leave a meeting. When my mom was in the hospital, he said work came first.
Cheered her up?
When had he ever cheered me up?
"David, how many times have you worked overtime this year?" I asked.
"Huh?" He looked caught off guard. "I... Who keeps track of that?"
"I do." I opened my notes app on my phone. "From January until now, you've claimed you were working at least fifty times overtime."
David's face shifted a bit.
"Monday, Wednesday, Friday," I read off the list. "And weekends, too. Last month, you said you were working overtime for eleven days straight. I tried to bring you food, but you told me not to bother, said the cafeteria had everything you needed."
"Well, that was..." David started.
"I asked your coworker, Ben, today," I cut him off. "He told me your department hasn't worked overtime in six months."
David's Adam's apple bobbed. "He doesn't really know. I was alone..."
"Alone doing what?" I shot back.
I stood up and walked right up to him. "Alone at a fancy restaurant? Alone feeding your coworker steak? Or alone getting a hotel room, too?"
"What nonsense are you spouting?" David's voice suddenly got loud. "It's business. Do you get how things work in the real world?"
"I don't get it." I nodded. "So tell me, is wiping your chat history part of your so-called business?"
He froze.
"I saw it," I said. "On your phone, you've got Winona pinned at the top. But the whole chat? One lonely okay."
"Well, that was..." David started.
"Over three hundred days of messages, and all that's left is a single okay?" I stared him down. "David, what did you wipe?"
David gripped his glass, saying nothing.
The clock in the living room struck ten.
It was ten o'clock.
Ten o'clock, Christmas night.
Other families were unwrapping presents, eating cake, and watching movies.
Meanwhile, I was grilling my husband about his relationship with another woman.
"I told you, nothing is going on." David set his glass down. "Maybe you're exhausted lately, seeing things that aren't there. Alex is only three; you should be paying more attention to him instead of overthinking everything."
"Overthinking?" I burst out laughing. "David, what were you wearing when you left the house today?"
"Huh?" David looked confused.
"I remember you left in a white shirt and black slacks," I said, pointing at the photo. "You said you had to dress up for a client meeting. But in this picture, you're wearing a casual suit with a gray turtleneck."
David looked down at what he was wearing. Casual suit. Gray turtleneck.
"I changed at the office," David mumbled.
"So you brought a change of clothes to work overtime?" I laughed. "Do you really need to change for overtime?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
I walked back to the couch, sat down, and stared at him. "You're sleeping in the study tonight."
"Selena, you..." David started.
"I have to work tomorrow." I stood up and headed for the bedroom. "Goodnight."
"Let me explain!" David called after me.
"No need." I didn't look back. "I don't want to listen to your lies."
As the door closed behind me, I heard him kick the coffee table.
Pressing my back to the door, I closed my eyes.
Five years, from falling in love to getting married, to having a baby together. I really thought that working late meant only working late, and that those business dinners were only business.
I really believed my husband was a good man.
But now?
I opened my eyes, pulled out my phone, and texted Ben Wilde: [Thanks for the photo.]
Ben replied: [Selena, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean for...]
Me: [It's fine. You really helped me out.]
Ben: [Want me to dig up anything else? I know the neighborhood he's always hanging in.]
I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the keyboard.
'Should I?' I thought. 'Do I really want to dig deeper? Even if I find out, what difference does it make?'
I erased what I'd written and typed something else. [No, not for now. I'll handle it myself.]
Ben: [Alright, let me know if you need anything.]
I set my phone down and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
My son, Alex Carter's, room was right next door.
He was three now, barely learning to speak in full sentences. Every night before bed, he wanted a story, and he always needed me by his side.
And David? How long had it been since he'd last tucked Alex in?
I rolled over and closed my eyes. 'Tomorrow,' I thought. 'I'll deal with it tomorrow.'