Chapter 2

Ophelia pressed her back to the cold hallway wall, her knees going weak.

His words looped in her head, sharp as a needle piercing straight through the warm, soft fog of the evening. Our secret. Don't tell Mommy.

What secret? What had happened that afternoon? If he'd really just picked her up from school like he said, what was there to hide?

The doubt she'd swallowed down an hour ago roared back, twice as loud. All the little things she'd brushed off—his late nights at the office, the random phone calls he'd step outside to take, the way he'd started hiding his phone screen when she walked in—suddenly clicked into place, one ugly picture.

The bedroom door creaked open. Ophelia scrambled back a step, forcing her face to stay neutral.

Matthew stepped out, yawning, and ran a hand through his hair. "You're still up? I thought you'd fall asleep on the couch with that massager. How was it, by the way? Good as the reviews said?"

"It was fine." Her voice was flat, hollow. She couldn't look him in the eye.

He noticed immediately. He crossed the hallway, crouched down in front of her, and took both her hands in his. His thumbs brushed over her knuckles, warm and gentle, the same gesture he'd used a hundred times to calm her down.

"Hey. What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. You feeling sick?"

Ophelia stared at their laced hands. She'd loved this man for half her life. She'd built everything with him. She didn't want to be the wife who accused her husband of cheating over one overheard sentence.

But she couldn't unhear it.

"Matthew." She lifted her eyes to his, her throat tight. "Are you hiding something from me?"

His face flickered. Just for a split second, so fast she almost thought she imagined it. Then he smiled, soft and confused, as she'd just told him the sky was green. "Hiding something? Baby, what are you talking about?"

"I heard you." Her voice broke. "I heard you tell Katya you two have a secret. She's four years old. Why would you teach her to lie to me?"

The hallway went quiet. Matthew stared at her for a long beat, then burst out laughing, relieved and exasperated. "Oh, my God. That's what this is about?"

He stood up, pulling her into his arms, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You scared me. I thought something was actually wrong. Katya broke a ceramic vase in Ms. Kim's classroom this afternoon during activity time. She was hysterical, said you'd be mad at her. Begged me not to tell you. I felt bad for the kid, so I told her we'd keep it between us."

Ophelia's shoulders loosened, just a fraction.

He pulled back, holding her face in his hands, his eyes warm and teasing. "What, you jealous? Think our daughter likes me better now? I'm wounded you'd think I'd keep some big secret from you over a broken vase."

She searched his face. His eyes were clear, open, the same warm hazel she'd fallen in love with in high school. No guilt, no evasion. Just her Matthew.

But the little voice in the back of her head wouldn't shut up. It was too perfect. Too convenient.

"Really?" she said, quietly.

"Really." He nodded, dead serious. "Ask Ms. Kim tomorrow if you don't believe me. Would I lie to you? Over a vase?"

Ophelia bit her lip. It made sense. Katya was sensitive, always terrified of disappointing her. She'd cried for an hour last month when she spilled juice on the couch, convinced Ophelia would hate her.

But if she didn't confirm it now, she'd lie awake all night turning it over in her head. She'd never trust him again, not fully.

She reached for her phone on the hallway table, pulling up Lucy's contact.

Matthew's hand closed around her wrist. "Ophelia. It's almost ten at night. Are you gonna text her now? That's rude. She's probably asleep."

Ophelia froze. She lifted her chin, her gaze sharp. "Why? You need time to warn her first?"

The hurt that flashed across his face was so raw, so real, that she immediately felt guilty. "Wow. That's what you think of me? I'm just saying it's late, and she has a life outside of our daughter's classroom. But if you're that dead set on calling me a liar, go ahead. Text her."

He let go of her wrist and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, his jaw tight.

Ophelia stared at him for a second, her chest tight with guilt and doubt. But she had to know. She typed out the message fast, before she could second-guess herself: "Ms. Kim, so sorry to bother you this late. Quick question—did Katya break a vase in class this afternoon?"

She hit send and held her breath, staring at the screen.

Matthew said nothing. He just scrolled through his phone, his face impassive.

Sixty seconds ticked by. Ninety. Ophelia's palms started to sweat. It was late. Lucy was probably asleep. If she didn't reply tonight, Matthew would have all night to get his story straight.

"Told you." Matthew's voice was quiet, tired. "She's asleep. Can we drop this and go to bed? It's our anniversary, for Christ's sake."

Ophelia's stomach twisted. He was right. She was being crazy. She was ruining their anniversary over nothing.

Just then, her phone buzzed.

She fumbled to pick it up. Lucy's reply glowed on the screen: "That's right, dear! She knocked it over during craft time this afternoon. No harm done; these things happen! Her dad already apologized profusely when he picked her up; no need to worry at all."

Ophelia read the message three times. Every word lined up. Every detail matched.

She'd been wrong. She'd accused her husband of lying, of cheating, of manipulating her four-year-old daughter, and she'd been completely wrong.

"See?" Matthew's voice was soft, a little hurt. "You really don't trust me anymore, do you?"

"I'm sorry." She set her phone down, stepping toward him, her throat tight with shame. "I'm so sorry, Matthew. I was being stupid and sensitive and—"

He cut her off, pulling her into his arms. He was warm, solid, real. "Shh. It's okay. I know you've been stressed lately. It's fine."

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and soft at first, then deeper. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him, relieved and guilty and so, so stupid for ever doubting him.

That night, he held her like he was scared she'd slip away. He was gentle and attentive, whispering how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, until she fell asleep boneless and sated in his arms, all her doubts buried deep.

When she woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. Matthew had already taken Katya to school, like he always did.

She reached for her phone to check the time, and her blood ran cold.

Thirteen missed calls from Scarlett.

One unread text, sent twenty minutes ago:

"Ophelia. I just saw him. Same hotel, same gray coat. It's Matthew. I'm sure of it this time."