The throat-clearing came again.
I stood motionless in the designer shoe store, surrounded by polished mirrors, bright lights, and boxes that suddenly looked absurdly expensive.
Owen and Lily were a few feet away, arguing over whether his new LEGO set would fit on his desk.
My husband was on the phone telling me he wasn’t alone.
And whoever was with him had just stepped closer.
“Daniel,” I said, “hand them the phone.”
“Emily, please don’t do this here.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m in a shoe store.
You’re in our house with someone you don’t want me speaking to.
Which one of us created the scene?”
His breathing became uneven.
Then a woman’s voice came through the speaker.
“Emily?”
Everything inside me went still.
She sounded nervous.
Not seductive.
Not triumphant.
Nervous.
That somehow made it worse.
“Who are you?”
Daniel said something in the background, but she spoke over him.
“I think Daniel needs to tell you the truth.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“I think you’re standing in my house, so you can start.”
There was another silence.
Then Daniel took the phone back.
“Come home.
I’ll explain everything.”
“No.
Explain now.”
“Not with the kids there.”
I glanced at Owen and Lily.
For the first time that afternoon, my shopping spree stopped feeling rebellious and started feeling reckless.
My children were smiling.
They had no idea their father had just turned our house into the center of a secret I still couldn’t see.
“Fine,” I said.
“I’m coming home.”
“Emily—”
“You wanted me home.
I’m coming home.”
I ended the call.
Lily looked at me immediately.
“Are we done shopping?”
I forced a smile.
“For today.”
The drive home felt longer than it ever had before.
Daniel called twice.
I didn’t answer.
At a red light, I noticed my hands shaking against the steering wheel.
My anger had carried me through the toy store, the dresses, the salon, the lingerie shop.
Anger had been easy.
Anger let me move.
Fear was different.
Fear made every possibility feel real.
Maybe there was another woman.
