At least on the street, there had been neighbors and embarrassment and the pressure to act normal.
Inside, there was only us.
The kitchen tiles we had picked together.
The mortgage we complained about.
Eleven years of marriage I had trusted completely until fifteen minutes earlier.
“Give me your phone,” I said.
Marcus stared at me.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He answered instantly.
“Why?”
“Because this is ridiculous.”
“Someone covered your car in women’s underwear and sent me a video showing you meeting a woman you’ve never mentioned.”
“I explained who she is.”
“You gave me her first name after I asked you twice.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I’m not giving you my phone because some crazy person is trying to create problems between us.”
“Then unlock it yourself.”
“No.”
I picked up his phone from the counter.
For years, I had known his six-digit passcode.
I entered it.
