Then came the hotel reservation during a conference that had no overnight component. Jewelry from a boutique near the office. Repeated rideshare charges between downtown bars and a luxury apartment building on West Randolph. More restaurants. More wine. More little lies so careless they felt insulting.
At first, she searched because she feared losing her husband. Eventually, she kept searching because she feared losing herself.
She had spoken to a lawyer six weeks earlier and told no one, not even David. The lawyer, a composed woman named Patrice Bell, had listened while Emily explained the inheritance from her father, the down payment on the house, the property investments Daniel liked to describe as his financial foresight though the initial capital had come from her side. Patrice had taken notes and said, “Do not confront him until you understand what you’re entitled to.”
Emily had felt ashamed then, as if preparing to protect herself was a betrayal.
Tonight, shame looked different. Tonight, shame belonged to the man wearing cologne for Vanessa.
She picked up her phone and called her younger brother.
David answered on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep or television. “Em?”
“Are you awake?”
