“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
The answer came without a beat of hesitation.
“Why not?”
“Because this is ridiculous.”
“Someone covered your car in women’s underwear and sent me a video of you meeting a woman you’ve never once mentioned.”
“I explained her.”
“You gave me a first name after I asked twice.”
He shook his head. “I’m not handing over my phone because some lunatic is trying to create problems between us.”
“Then unlock it yourself.”
“No.”
I picked his phone up from the counter and entered the six-digit code I had known for years.
It didn’t work.
“When did you change your passcode?”
“A while ago.”
“Why?”
“Security.”
My phone buzzed again.
If he tells you it’s only Olivia, ask him about Thursdays.
The cold that moved through me was slow and thorough.
For months, Marcus had been coming home late on Thursdays. Nine o’clock, ten o’clock. A standing project review, he’d told me. Long meetings. I had never questioned it. You don’t, when you trust someone. Or rather — you don’t, when you think trust means not needing to look too closely.
“Tell me about Thursdays,” I said.
Marcus sat down.
He sat down the way you do when your legs have made a decision before the rest of you has.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.
“What am I thinking?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I made a mistake.”
My chest tightened. “With Olivia.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“It wasn’t a relationship.”
“How long, Marcus.”
“A few months.”
And then came the story. He was stressed. Work pressure. Olivia understood. They crossed a line. He ended it three weeks ago. He realized what he was risking. He was sorry.
It almost sounded like the truth.
It was arranged like the truth. It had all the right pieces in all the right places.
Then my phone buzzed again.
He’s going to tell you he made one mistake. Don’t believe him.
Below that, an address.
Come alone at 6:00 p.m. if you want the whole truth.
For the rest of the morning, Marcus followed me from room to room, apologizing. His story had calcified into something almost clean — one affair, one angry woman, one terrible mistake that was already over. By noon, he’d said sorry so many times the word had stopped meaning anything.
