Vanessa was in his arms.
Her black bikini top lay on Marissa’s patio chair. Caleb’s linen pants were folded beside it, neat enough to prove nobody had been in a hurry until the door opened.
Caleb saw Marissa first.
“Marissa,” he said.
He said her name like she was the problem.
Vanessa sank lower into the water, only her shoulders and mouth visible. Her red lipstick was smeared at the corner, the same shade Marissa had noticed on a coffee mug in her kitchen the week before. Kitchen& Dining
That memory returned with cruel clarity.
Vanessa had stood at Marissa’s island, holding that mug, asking if Caleb was still working late so often.
Marissa had answered honestly.
Because she had trusted the woman asking.
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