“What did he say?”

She lowered her voice.

“‘I’m sorry.’”

My skin crawled.

I didn’t go to work that day.

I waited.

I watched.

I watched Daniel eat breakfast as if nothing had happened.

Check emails.

Answer calls from the hospital.

Kiss Emily before leaving.

The perfect man.

The admirable doctor.

The respectable husband.

And yet…

every single night, he was secretly sleeping with our daughter.

At three in the afternoon, I went into his home office.

I never went through his things.

Never.

But something wouldn’t let me sit still.

I opened drawers.

Medical papers.

Prescriptions.

Notebooks.

Nothing unusual.

Until I found a metal box.

Locked.

The key was taped underneath the desk.

As if he knew that one day I would come looking.

I unlocked it.

And I lost my breath.

Inside were photos.

Dozens of them.

All of a little girl.

About seven years old.

Dark hair.

A huge smile.

Pink wristbands.

Hospitals.

Parks.

Birthday cakes.

And Daniel.

Always Daniel.

Holding her.

Carrying her backpacks.

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