The Photo I Didn't Take

Synopsis

My phone clicked, and I made a goofy face for the camera. I scoffed and deleted the ugly photo. My husband, Michael Carter, still had three hours before he got home. He'd texted me to "get ready and wait for him." As if. We'd been married three years, and he was still just as attached as he'd been when we were dating. I scrolled through my gallery, flipping through old photos. Our honeymoon by the beach in Maui. The ridiculously ugly bunny hat he'd bought me for my birthday last year. Last month, when my best friend came over for dinner, we got drunk, and we ended up crying in each other's arms like idiots... Wait. My finger stopped. When had this photo been taken? In the picture, I was lying on my side, half my face buried in the pillow, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. The dim bedside lamp was on, casting a faint shadow across my face. I could clearly see the gray-striped duvet—the cotton set we'd only changed out last month. The timestamp read 1:07 AM today. I stared at the screen, my mind going blank for a few seconds. One in the morning? Michael had been on a business trip in Seattle last night. I'd gone to bed at ten thirty, alone. I slept like the dead, but there was no way someone could've taken a photo of me without my knowing. So who took it? I pinched the screen to zoom in, studying every detail. It was definitely my bedroom. The angle came from the foot of the bed with the camera slightly tilted. The info said it was taken on my iPhone. Which meant that at 1:07 AM, someone had walked into my bedroom, used my phone, and taken a picture of me while I slept.