Then it came to me.

She would not save him as Blake.

In the morning, while Jenna showered, I opened her phone. We knew each other’s passcodes because I had once believed shared access meant shared life. I linked her messaging app to my laptop, returned the phone exactly where it had been, and waited.

Most conversations were deleted.

One contact remained.

Kara Payroll.

The profile picture was a dumbbell.

The messages looked innocent unless you knew the translation.

Can you bring the paperwork upstairs?

I knew Jenna did not work upstairs.

I miss my desk.

The boss is still around.

I stared at the word boss.

That was me.

Not husband.

Not Caleb.

Boss.

I took screenshots, but Evelyn warned me they might not be enough. A fake name was not a confession. Coded messages could be explained away. Photos from a parking lot proved contact, not adultery. Entering the gated property without permission could hurt me more than help me.

So I set a trap.

I texted Jenna from work and told her my test came back positive for the flu. I said I would stay at my parents’ house for three days so I could rest and avoid getting her sick. Her reply came almost immediately.

Oh baby, that’s probably best. I’ll miss you. Call me when you get there.

Three minutes later, the laptop session lit up.

Boss is gone for the weekend. My desk is open.

My hands went numb.

The bait had worked.

When I got home, my suitcase was already packed.

She had packed it for me.

That detail hurt in a way I did not expect.

She smiled sympathetically, told me to drink fluids, and watched the clock twice while pretending not to. I told her I would miss her. She walked me all the way to the car.

I thought that was strange until thirty minutes later.

My father and my younger brother, Owen, were parked down the street watching the building entrance for Blake.

He never came through the front.

Then I understood.

He was already inside.

Maybe waiting in the stairwell.

Maybe in the garage.

Maybe in her car.

Maybe he had done this enough times to know the building better than I did.

I drove around the block, parked near the service entrance, and came back through the garage with my old key card. Raul saw me from the desk and stood up. I lifted one finger to my lips.

His face changed.

He nodded once.

Inside the condo, music was playing from the bedroom.

Soft enough to pretend normal.

Loud enough to cover sound.

A man’s shirt was on the chair outside the door.

Her leggings were on the floor.

My heart did not break in that moment.

It hardened.

I started recording on my phone and pushed the bedroom door open.

There they were.

Jenna and Blake.

No shadows.

No ambiguity.

No way to call it insecurity.

For a few seconds, the camera caught both of their faces clearly as they turned toward me.

Jenna screamed and pulled the blanket to her chest.

Blake came toward me like he had forgotten whose home he was standing in.

“Take a walk, champ,” he said.

I looked at him.

There are moments when a man’s life narrows to one clean line.

I did not want a fight.

I wanted him out.

He stepped closer, bare-chested, aggressive, stupid enough to think muscle meant ownership.

I drove the heel of my hand into the center of his chest.

Not enough to seriously hurt him.

Enough to stop the performance.

He stumbled backward, coughing and swearing, one hand pressed against his sternum.

“Get out of my house,” I said.

I threw his clothes into the hallway.

By then, Raul, my father, and Owen were at the door. Owen looked ready to drag Blake through the wall. My father looked ready to stop Owen from ruining both our lives.

“I’ve got it,” I told them.

Then I closed the door.

Jenna sat on the bed wrapped in the blanket, shaking.

I had never seen her look so small.

For three seconds, I felt nothing.

Then everything arrived at once.

“I have never hurt you,” I said. “And I will not start now. Get dressed. I’ll wait in the living room.”

While she dressed, I sent the video to Evelyn.

She replied four minutes later.

I am sorry, Caleb. Legally, this gives us what we need.

Jenna came into the living room wearing sweatpants and one of my old shirts.

That almost destroyed me.

Of every piece of clothing in that bedroom, she chose mine.

She sat across from me at the dining table and stared at the wood grain.

I started recording again.

“Why?” I asked.

She cried.

No answer.

“Was I that awful to be married to?”

More tears.

Still nothing.

“Do you love him?”

She shook her head quickly.

That answer made it worse.

I slammed my hand on the table.

“Then say something.”

She flinched.

The flinch cut me deeper than I expected because I had never wanted her afraid of me. I had wanted her honest. Somehow, after everything she had done, I was still the one who felt guilty for raising my voice.

I sat back down.

“My lawyer will contact you. Get your own.”

Her voice finally broke through.

“We can fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“Us.”

“There is no us,” I said. “There is a memory of us, and there is what you did in our bed while I pretended to have the flu to catch you.”

“It was a mistake.”

“No,” I said. “A mistake is forgetting milk. This was planning. This was coded contacts, deleted messages, leaving your phone in a car so the map would lie for you.”

She covered her mouth and sobbed.

I stood.

“Go to your sister’s house. Tell her the truth, or I will.”