Marcus had told me he was working late that Friday.
On the screen, his car pulled up. He stepped out of the driver’s side. A woman walked into the frame and went straight toward him. Marcus opened his arms and wrapped them around her.
Then the video stopped.
No kiss. No conversation. Just that embrace.
Behind me, Marcus said, “What are you watching?”
I locked the screen.
“Who were you with Friday night?”
His expression went still in a way I recognized. Not guilt exactly — something more calculated. The face of a man deciding which version of a story to use.
“What?”
“Friday. You said you were working late.”
“I was.”
“Who were you with afterward?”
His eyes moved to my phone.
“Danielle, what did they send you?”
They.
One word. He said it without thinking.
“They?” I repeated.
“I meant whoever did this.” He gestured at the car. “What are they trying to prove?”
