She found Tessa.
Tessa found Brooke.
And eventually they realized how large the pattern was.
“It’s been happening for years,” Tessa said.
I swallowed.
“How many?”
No one answered.
“How many women?”
“We don’t know,” she said. “We’re just the seven we were able to verify.”
Suddenly every memory rearranged itself.
The changed phone password.
Every Thursday night I ate dinner alone.
Every delayed flight.
Every late-night text Marcus casually dismissed as work.
“The lingerie,” I finally said.
Tessa looked embarrassed.
“That was Olivia’s idea.”
“You came to my house at three in the morning?”
“All of us did,” Brooke answered.
“Why underwear?”
Brooke looked at me.
“Because Marcus bought lingerie for several of us. He liked giving it as a gift.”
I remembered a boutique charge on our shared credit-card statement six months earlier.
Marcus had claimed it was part of a group birthday present for someone from work.
