The next night, another text came in.
A new number again.
“They didn’t let you see her either, did they.”
I stared at it.
Either.
How did he know that?
I typed, “How do you know that?”
I deleted it.
I didn’t answer.
I turned off my phone and put it in a drawer.
That same night, I found the receipt.
It was in the pocket of Jason’s jacket.
I was only looking for his car keys.
Harlow’s Market.
Tuesday.
7:14 a.m.
Children’s ibuprofen.
Two juice boxes.
A box of crayons.
A coloring book.
I stood in the front hall holding it.
Jason was supposed to be in the guest room that Tuesday.
Resting.
Taking his pills.
He couldn’t drive.
He couldn’t even stand in the shower.
Who was he buying crayons for?
My mind went to the worst place.
The place every wife’s mind goes.
Another woman.
Another kid.
Another family he’d been running to while mine fell apart.
It made a sick kind of sense.
The guest room.
The unlocked back door.
Meredith not meeting my eyes.
She’d know.
She’d cover for him.
That night, I stood in the guest room doorway.
Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his leg.
I held up the receipt.
“Who are these for?”
He stared at it.
One second too long.
“The kids’ ward,” he said.
“At Mercy Ridge.”
“Meredith asked me to drop some things off.”
“For the kids who don’t get visitors.”
“At seven in the morning?”
“That’s when she’s on.”
“You can’t drive.”
“Meredith picked me up.”
“You were asleep.”
He had an answer for everything.
He’d always had an answer for everything.
“Jason,” I said.
“If there’s something you’re not telling me—”
“There’s nothing,” he said.
He looked straight at me when he said it.
He’d never been able to do that when he lied.
Until then.
I went upstairs.
I lay on top of the covers in my clothes.
I didn’t sleep.
Somewhere around five, I heard the back door open.
And close.
Very softly.
On the fifteenth morning, I was standing at the kitchen counter.
