Chapter 2: The Date He Couldn't Explain
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The exterior alarm kept ringing, but I barely heard it anymore. My attention had narrowed to Ethan's face, to the way his lips parted and closed without producing a single word.
I had seen him nervous before.
I had watched him stumble through job interviews, sweat through difficult conversations with his father, and pace the living room while waiting for medical test results.
This was different.
This was recognition.
He knew the date.
And he knew why I was asking about it.
Daniel picked up his wedding ring from the table, rolled it between his fingers, and looked at Ethan.
“What happened on March 14?””
Ethan's eyes darted toward the gate.
“Nothing.””
I lowered my phone slightly.
“Nothing?””
“That was months ago, Nia. I don't know what you're talking about.””
I could almost admire the speed of the lie if it hadn't been happening to me.
I opened my messages and held the screen toward him.
“Then explain this.””
Ethan didn't take the phone.
His eyes moved over the two lines of text. The color drained from his face even further.
“Where did you get that?””
“An unknown number.””
“Delete it.””
The answer came too quickly.
I blinked.
“Excuse me?””
“I'm serious. Don't respond to it. Don't click anything. Just delete it.””
Daniel stepped closer to the patio table.
“Why would she delete a message you're telling her not to investigate?””
Ethan turned on him.
“This has nothing to do with you.””
Daniel gave a humorless laugh.
“Your wife just caught you in a pool with mine, and you're telling me this has nothing to do with me?””
“I said we were talking.””
“And I asked why.””
“You're not listening!””
“Then give me something worth listening to.””
Brooke wrapped a white patio towel around herself. She had stopped crying, but her hands shook so badly that she struggled to hold the fabric closed.
“Daniel, please,” she whispered.
“Not here.””
He looked at her.
“You had plenty of opportunities to choose somewhere else.””
She flinched.
I knew that expression. It was the look of someone who had just realized that the person they were trying to manage was no longer willing to cooperate.
But I couldn't spare her much sympathy.
My phone was still in my hand.
March 14.
I could remember that night in painfully ordinary detail.
Ethan had called me at 9:17 p.m. His voice had sounded tired, and I had asked whether his presentation had gone well. He told me the conference had been exhausting, that the hotel restaurant was overpriced, and that he missed sleeping beside me.
I had laughed and told him to stop being dramatic.
He had promised to call again before bed.
At 11:38 p.m., I had sent him a picture of the dinner I had made for myself. He never replied.
The next morning, he said he had fallen asleep.
Now a stranger was telling me to check a camera at the exact minute I had been waiting for him to answer.
I turned toward the garage.
Our house had an ordinary residential security system when we bought it. Ethan had upgraded it after a break-in two streets away, adding cameras at the front entrance, the driveway, and the garage.
He had insisted that the footage was stored locally as well as in the cloud.
I remembered asking him why the garage needed its own camera.
His answer had been simple.
Because that's where we keep things we can't afford to lose.
At the time, I thought he meant his tools and expensive equipment.
Now the sentence returned with an entirely different weight.
I started toward the garage.
Ethan moved immediately.
“Nia, wait.””
I stopped.
He was still in the pool, one hand gripping the ladder.
“Don't go in there.””
The words landed between us.
Daniel slowly turned toward him.
“Why not?””
Ethan's jaw tightened.
“Because this is getting out of hand.””
I looked at him.
“You told me to delete the message. Now you're telling me not to check the garage. Can you hear yourself?””
“I'm trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
He didn't answer.
I walked toward the patio doors.
Behind me, Daniel said, “Ethan, you have about ten seconds to tell us why you're afraid of a security camera.””
“Stay out of it, Daniel.””
“No.””
One syllable. Flat. Final.
“I've spent the last ten minutes watching my wife cry while you hide behind the word talking. I'm done staying out of anything.””
I stepped inside long enough to grab the spare key from the small ceramic bowl beside the kitchen entrance.
The kitchen smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and the coffee I had brewed that morning. My laptop sat closed on the island. Ethan's reading glasses rested beside it.
Everything looked familiar.
Everything felt contaminated.
I returned outside.
Ethan had climbed out of the pool. He stood beside the table in his swim trunks, water dripping onto the stone patio. He had not bothered to retrieve his clothes.
“Nia,” he said, quieter now.
“Please. We need to talk before you do something you regret.””
I held up the key.
“You've had months to talk.””
“I can explain March 14.””
“Then explain it.””
He opened his mouth.
Daniel folded his arms.
Brooke stared at the garage.
Ethan looked at all three of us, and I watched him calculate which person he could persuade, which person he could frighten, and which person he could still deceive.
Finally, he said, “I wasn't in Chicago the entire night.””
The admission struck me with the force of a physical blow.
I gripped the key.
“What does that mean?””
“I had to leave the hotel for a while.””
“Leave the hotel?””
“Yes.””
“Where did you go?””
His eyes dropped to the patio stones.
“I can't remember the exact time.””
I let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“You remember every detail of your business trips. You complain about flight delays six months after they happen. You once made me drive forty minutes back to a restaurant because you thought you'd left your wallet there.””
“Nia—”
“And now you can't remember where you were on the night a stranger has specifically told me to check our garage camera?””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I made a mistake.””
Daniel went still.
Brooke's towel slipped slightly from her shoulder, and she pulled it back into place without looking away from Ethan.
I felt the world shift beneath my feet.
“What kind of mistake?””
Ethan looked at me.
“A mistake that doesn't have anything to do with Brooke.””
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Then why did you look at her when you said that?””
Ethan turned.
“I didn't.””
“You did.””
“I don't owe you an explanation about every look I give.””
Daniel took one step forward.
“You owe me the truth about why your wife is standing here with a message that has you shaking.””
I moved toward the garage again.
This time Ethan followed me out of the pool area.
“Nia, don't open that door.””
I reached the garage entrance.
“Give me one good reason.””
He stopped three feet away.
For the first time in our marriage, I saw something in his eyes that frightened me more than anger.
Desperation.
“Because,” he whispered, “if you look at that footage, you'll never believe another word I say.””
I stared at him.
Then I inserted the key into the lock.
The garage door remained closed, hiding whatever lay beyond it.
My phone vibrated once more.
A third message appeared.
*HE'S LYING ABOUT CHICAGO.*
I looked at the timestamp again.
March 14.
11:38 p.m.
May you like
And beneath the message, the sender had attached one final line.
*ASK HIM WHO WAS DRIVING YOUR CAR.*
