Part 4

Somewhere outside, a delivery truck stopped in the street.

Everything continued as usual.

But my understanding of my marriage had changed in less than ten seconds.

The canceled dinners.

The sudden trips.

The way Julian turned his phone away when he replied to messages.

The irritation whenever I asked about Serena.

The carefully repeated explanations about demanding clients.

I remembered every time I had apologized for being suspicious.

Every time I had reminded myself that a good marriage required trust.

Every time Julian had made me feel unreasonable for asking ordinary questions.

I didn’t pick up his phone.

I didn’t unlock it.

I didn’t search for more proof.

I simply stood there looking at the messages until the screen went dark.

Then I heard the shower stop.

My body reacted before my mind did.

I moved away from the island, picked up my coffee, and pretended to study the newspaper lying on the counter.

A few minutes later, Julian entered the kitchen.

His hair was still damp.

He was wearing the pale blue shirt I had bought him for his birthday.

For one terrible moment, I remembered how carefully I had chosen it.

How I had imagined him wearing it to important meetings.

How pleased he had seemed when he opened the gift.

He kissed my cheek.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

He reached for a mug.

“Everything okay?”

I looked directly at him.

I wanted to ask how long he had been lying.

I wanted to know whether Serena had been in our marriage before or after he persuaded me to abandon London.

I wanted to ask whether he had ever intended to tell me.

Instead, I said, “Yes.”

It was the first time I could remember lying to my husband so easily.

Julian poured his coffee.

Then he picked up his phone.

I watched his expression change as he read the notifications.

His forehead tightened.

His thumb moved quickly across the screen.

He turned the phone facedown.

For several seconds, he didn’t look at me.

Then he asked, “Did you sleep well?”

The question was so ordinary that I nearly laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because I suddenly understood how much effort he was willing to spend pretending everything was normal.

“Not really.”

“Something bothering you?”

I studied his face.

“Do you think you’d tell me if something important was happening in your life?”

He looked puzzled.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.”

“Of course I would.”

“Even if you thought it might upset me?”

His expression hardened slightly.

“Emma, where is this coming from?”

I looked at the phone lying between us.

Then I looked back at him.

“Nowhere.”

He watched me for a moment.

I wondered whether he knew I had seen the messages.

I wondered whether he was frightened.

But he didn’t ask.

He simply took his coffee and announced that he had another long day ahead.

At the door, he paused.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I could have confronted him then.

I could have repeated Serena’s words and demanded an explanation.

Part of me desperately wanted to.

But another part had become painfully aware of something.

For months, I had been trying to get Julian to care about what was happening inside our marriage.

I had explained my loneliness.

I had asked for time.

I had tried to communicate without accusing him.

And every attempt had ended with me feeling responsible for making the conversation uncomfortable.

I wasn’t ready to enter another argument in which I would somehow become the problem.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He left.

The moment the door closed, I sat down at the kitchen table.

My coffee was untouched.

I stared at the wedding ring on my finger.

For several minutes, I tried to make myself cry.

I expected tears.

I expected panic.

I expected the overwhelming desire to save what was left of my marriage.

But what I felt most strongly was exhaustion.

I had been fighting for a relationship without realizing that I was fighting alone.

My phone vibrated.

It was a message from Margaret.

London confirmed the revised schedule.

They’ll need you there in approximately three months.

We can discuss travel arrangements next week.

I read the message twice.

Three months.

I had three months to prepare for the assignment I had wanted for more than a decade.

Three months to decide what my marriage meant after what I had discovered.

Three months to determine whether I could keep living beside a man who had become a stranger.

I looked at the kitchen around me.

The breakfast dishes.

The wedding photograph near the dining room.

The expensive coffee machine Julian had bought because he liked his mornings predictable.

Everything looked exactly the same.

But I knew something had ended.

Not because Serena had sent those messages.

Not because Julian had come downstairs and pretended nothing was wrong.

Something had ended when I realized that the woman who used to beg for his attention no longer wanted to beg.

I picked up my phone and replied to Margaret.

Thank you.

I’m ready.

Then I opened my calendar and marked the date of my departure.

For the first time in six months, I was looking forward to something without waiting for Julian’s approval.