I hugged her and told her I would never be mad at her. Never.
But she didn’t say anything else.
That night, I lay awake next to Mark, staring into the darkness, listening to him breathe as if nothing in the world was wrong. My whole being wanted to believe there was some innocent explanation I hadn’t yet seen.
In the morning, I knew I couldn’t live on hope anymore.
I needed the truth.
The next night, when Mark took Sophie upstairs for her usual bath, I waited until I heard the water running.
Then I walked barefoot down the hallway, my heart pounding so hard my chest ached.
The bathroom door was ajar, just enough.
I peeked inside.
And in a second, the man I had married was gone. Mark was crouched by the bathtub with a kitchen timer in one hand and a paper cup in the other, talking to Sophie in a voice so calm it chilled me to the bone.
