Chapter 1

Tamsin's POV

"Because I'm smart about it. I've got the perfect cover."

My husband's voice came through the headphones, smug and relaxed.

"What, you mean the classic 'working late' excuse? Come on, everyone uses that—"

"No, no. Better than that. I got Jerry on my side."

I stopped breathing. The coffee cup in my hand started to shake.

"Your kid? Seriously?"

"Dead serious. The little guy helps me out. Every time I say I'm working late, he backs me up. 'Daddy works so hard, Mommy. We should let him rest.' It's perfect. Tamsin believes everything that kid says. She's completely blind to it."

The other man laughed. "That's... man, that's actually genius. She really doesn't suspect anything?"

"Not a thing. She trusts Jerry completely. Makes it so easy."

The cup slipped from my fingers. I watched the brown liquid spread across my keyboard but I couldn't move to stop it. Everything in my body had gone numb except for this crushing weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

Jerry. My six-year-old son. He'd been helping Steven lie to me.

I don't know how long I sat there before I finally pulled off the headphones with shaking hands.

The email that started it all was still open on my screen. I scrolled up to look at it again, trying to make sense of what I'd just heard. The sender field was blank. The subject line said: "You know." The audio file was attached with no message, no explanation.

Who sent this? Why now?

I clicked back through my inbox frantically, looking for any clue, but there was nothing. The email had appeared twenty minutes ago while I was deep in work on an animation sequence. I'd almost deleted it, thinking it was spam.

And now I knew. My husband had been cheating on me for a year. My son had been covering for him. They'd both been lying to my face, day after day, playing me for a fool.

Tamsin believes everything that kid says.

Jerry. My six-year-old son who hugged me every morning and asked me to read to him before bed. Jerry who I loved more than anything in this world.

He'd been lying to me. Helping Steven cheat on me. For an entire year.

The voices in the recording kept talking but I couldn't hear them anymore. I felt like I was underwater, like the whole world had separated itself from me and I was stuck in this moment, alone with the truth.

My husband was cheating on me. My son knew about it. My son was helping him do it.

I don't know how I managed to drive home. I came back to myself standing in front of our house with my keys in my hand, staring at the red front door and thinking about how I'd picked out that color because I thought it looked cheerful.

I could hear the TV through the door. Jerry's favorite cartoon was on.

My hand shook so badly I could barely get the key in the lock.

"Mommy!" Jerry came running the second I opened the door. "You're home early!"

I caught him when he jumped at me and wrapped my arms around his small body. He smelled like apple juice and the coconut shampoo I always used on him after his bath. He felt warm and real and like everything I thought I knew about my life.

"Hey, buddy," I said.

"Daddy's in the living room," Jerry said, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the hallway. "Come on!"

Steven was stretched out on the couch with his phone in his hand. When he saw us he looked up and smiled.

"You're home early," he said. "Everything okay?"

"Just a headache." The lie came out easily, and I realized with a strange detached feeling that this was the first of many lies I'd be telling from now on. "Thought I'd come home and rest."

"Good idea." He went back to his phone without even really looking at me. "I've got to work late tonight, though. Big project deadline."

I watched his face for any sign of guilt or nervousness. There was absolutely nothing there.

"Daddy works so hard," Jerry said, climbing onto the couch next to Steven. "Right, Mommy?"

I heard Steven's voice from the recording again: "Every time I say I'm working late, he backs me up."

I forced my mouth into something that might have looked like a smile. "Right. So hard."

I made mac and cheese for dinner because it was Jerry's favorite, but I couldn't taste any of it.

Steven left right after dinner, claiming he needed to get to the office. Jerry stood at the door waving. "Work hard, Daddy!"

When the door closed I stood in the hallway staring at nothing. Behind me Jerry had already gone back to his cartoons like this was just another normal evening.

"Jerry, honey?" I was surprised by how steady my voice came out. "Can you turn down the TV for a minute? Mommy needs to talk to you."

"Okay!" He bounced over and turned down the volume. "What is it, Mommy?"

I got down on my knees in front of him so we were at the same height. "Jerry, does Daddy really work late a lot?"

Something changed in his face for just a second, something I wouldn't have noticed before today. Then he nodded hard. "Uh-huh. Daddy has a very important job."

"I see." My throat felt so tight I could barely get the words out. "And you help Daddy, don't you? You tell Mommy that Daddy is working?"

"Yeah!" He looked proud of himself. "Daddy said it's important to support him. That's what families do."

Oh God. Oh God, he actually thinks he's doing the right thing.

I reached out and touched his cheek, and he leaned into my hand like he always did. "Jerry, baby, I need you to understand something. Mommy and Daddy might not be together anymore. We might—"

"Are you getting divorced?" His voice cut through what I was trying to say.

"I... yes. Probably yes."

He jerked away from me so fast I almost fell forward. "No! I don't want that!"

"Jerry—"

"If you get divorced, who will I live with?" His face scrunched up but not like he was sad. "I want to live with Daddy."

The words felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped something vital out. "What? Honey, I'm your mother—"

"I don't care!" His voice got louder, "I want to stay with Daddy! You can't make me live with you!"

"Jerry, please, just listen—"

"No!" He actually stamped his foot on the floor. "I want Daddy! Not you!"

He ran upstairs before I could say anything else, and seconds later I heard his bedroom door slam.

I stayed there on my knees with my hands still reaching out toward where he'd been standing.

Later that night, after Jerry had fallen asleep without letting me tuck him in, I sat in my bedroom with my laptop.

I typed into Google: divorce lawyers near me.

I'd gather evidence. I'd find proof of Steven's affairs and document everything carefully. Then I'd file for divorce and fight for custody of Jerry.

He's only six years old, I told myself, staring at the laptop screen. He doesn't really understand what he's doing. Steven has been manipulating him, using him. But he's still my son. Once I have custody, once we're away from Steven's influence, I can teach him what's right.

I had to believe that. Because if I didn't, if I let myself think that my son actually wanted to hurt me, I wasn't sure I could keep going.