At nine in the morning, Ethan Carter watched Samantha walk through the front door wearing the same dark green dress from the night before.
Her heels hung from one hand.
Her phone rested in the other.
Her hair was loose now, although Ethan remembered how carefully she had pinned it before leaving the house the previous evening.
She stopped when she saw him sitting at the kitchen table.
Ethan had not moved from that chair in almost forty minutes.
A cold cup of coffee sat near his left hand.
A yellow legal pad sat near his right hand.
Between them was his wedding ring.
Samantha noticed the ring first.
Her eyes dropped to it and then lifted back to Ethan’s face.
She tried to smile.
The smile lasted less than a second.
Ethan asked the question without raising his voice.
“Did you sleep with Dylan?”
Samantha froze.
The house seemed to become painfully quiet around them.
The refrigerator hummed near the pantry.
A delivery truck groaned somewhere outside on the street.
Samantha slowly set her shoes near the door.
“It was one night.”
Ethan looked at her for several seconds.
He had imagined that answer while driving home from the bank at six thirty that morning.
He had imagined denial.
He had imagined anger.
He had imagined tears.
He had even imagined Samantha laughing at him and telling him that he was paranoid.
He had not imagined how ordinary she would make it sound.
One night.
The phrase landed between them like a receipt for something small.
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
“That is your answer?”
Samantha crossed her arms.
“It was a mistake.”
Ethan nodded once.
“You stayed at the Asheford Hotel until three in the morning.”
Her face tightened.
Ethan continued before she could speak.
“Your location history showed the hotel from eleven forty-seven last night until three twelve this morning.”
Samantha looked toward the kitchen window.
“Location history is not proof of anything.”
“Clare said you never stayed at her apartment.”
Samantha’s eyes snapped back toward him.
For the first time that morning, real fear appeared on her face.
“You called Clare?”
“I did.”
“You had no right to drag her into this.”
Ethan almost laughed.
He did not.
He had discovered during the previous twelve hours that anger could be exhausting, while clarity used very little energy.
“Clare told me you texted her at eight last night and asked her to cover for you if I called.”
Samantha opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Ethan reached for his coffee.
