Chapter 4 - THE HUSBAND WHO CAME HOME SMILING
Daniel returned Monday afternoon.
I was waiting in the kitchen.
He entered carrying his suitcase and a paper bag from a bakery.
“Hey, beautiful.”
He kissed my cheek.
I didn't move.
He placed the bag on the counter.
“Brought your favorite cinnamon rolls.”
I looked at them.
The bakery was near the Lake Forest hotel.
“Thoughtful,” I said.
He smiled.
“See? I do pay attention.”
He carried his suitcase upstairs.
I listened to the wheels bump against the steps.
Then I opened the bakery bag.
Two cinnamon rolls.
A receipt.
Purchased at 8:17 that morning.
By Daniel.
The total included a third item.
A chocolate croissant.
Claire's favorite, according to a photograph she'd posted publicly months earlier.
I folded the receipt.
Placed it beside the others.
And waited.
***
That evening, Daniel sat on the sofa watching football.
I brought him a glass of water.
He smiled.
“Thanks, babe.”
I sat opposite him.
“How was the retreat?”
“Productive.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“Lots.”
“About what?”
He sighed.
“Corporate strategy. Leadership. You wouldn't be interested.”
I looked at him.
“Try me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Amelia, I'm tired.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Then I asked:
“Why did you book a flight home with Claire Bennett?”
The television continued playing.
Daniel froze.
For three seconds, he didn't move.
Then he turned.
“What?”
I placed the printed confirmation on the coffee table.
His eyes dropped to it.
He looked up.
“Where did you get that?”
“From our travel account.”
He stared.
Then laughed sharply.
“You've been checking up on me?”
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“That's an invasion of privacy.”
I looked at him.
“You booked travel for another woman through our shared account.”
“It's not what you think.”
“Then explain it.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Claire needed help getting home.”
“From a retreat that didn't exist?”
Silence.
I placed another document on the table.
The hotel reservation.
Then the jewelry charge.
Then the old conference photograph.
Daniel stared at the papers.
His face drained.
I watched him search for an explanation.
For years, he'd been good at explanations.
Tonight, there were too many facts.
Finally, he said:
“Amelia, I made a mistake.”
I looked at him.
“A mistake?”
He swallowed.
“It wasn't supposed to happen.”
I felt something inside me go still.
“How long?”
He looked away.
“It's complicated.”
“How long, Daniel?”
He closed his eyes.
“Five months.”
I stared.
Five months.
The same five months he'd told me he was stressed.
The same five months I'd wondered whether he still loved me.
I stood.
“I'm staying with Rachel.”
Daniel jumped up.
“Amelia, wait.”
I stepped back.
“Don't touch me.”
He stopped.
For once, he listened.
I picked up my bag.
Then turned.
“Did you buy her jewelry?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“And you brought me cinnamon rolls.”
His eyes filled.
May you like
“Amelia—”
I walked out.
