Chapter 3: What Was in the Photo
The photo showed Andrew and a woman standing on a resort balcony.
Our resort.
Our balcony.
The one attached to the room I had booked for our family.
She was leaning against the railing.
He was standing close.
Not touching.
But close in the way that people are close when they have already decided something.
I recognized the view behind them.
The palm trees.
The curve of the pool below.
I had stood in that exact spot on the second morning and taken a photo of the sunrise.
Andrew saw my face.
"That's not what it looks like."
"You keep saying that." I set the phone on the table face-up so everyone could see it.
"Tell me what it looks like, then."
"She's a colleague.
She was at the same resort by coincidence—"
"By coincidence."
"Yes."
Nicole made a sound from the wall.
Not a word.
Just a sound.
I looked at her.
"Nicole.
What did you actually see that night?"
She uncrossed her arms.
Her jaw was tight.
"I went back for my keycard around ten.
You were already asleep.
I knocked and Dad didn't answer so I used the spare." She stopped.
"He wasn't in the room."
"I went for a walk," Andrew said.
"At ten o'clock."
"Yes."
"And she was there by coincidence."
"Yes."
I picked the phone back up.
I tapped on the woman's profile.
Her name was Diane.
Her profile was mostly private.
But her most recent post was public.
A sunset.
The same resort.
Tagged three days before we arrived.
I turned the phone toward Andrew.
"She was there before us."
He said nothing.
"You knew she was going to be there."
"It's complicated."
"Andrew." His mother's voice came from the end of the table.
Low.
Warning.
"Don't."
I looked at her.
"You knew."
She pressed her lips together.
"How long have you known?"
"This isn't the place—"
"How long?"
The silence that followed was its own answer.
Nicole pushed off from the wall and walked to my side of the table.
She didn't say anything.
She just stood next to me.
Her shoulder touching mine.
Andrew sat back down.
He put both hands flat on the table.
"I was going to tell you when we got home."
"But you didn't."
"I needed time to figure out how."
"How long, Andrew?"
He looked at his hands.
"Eight months."
The room didn't change.
The dinner plates were still on the table.
The overhead light was still too bright.
His mother still had her hand near her mouth.
But something shifted in me that I could feel physically.
Like a floor dropping an inch.
"Eight months," I said.
"I'm sorry."
Nicole's hand found my arm.
I didn't move.
"Is she the only one?"
Andrew looked up.
"Yes."
"Are you sure that's the answer you want to give me right now?"
He held my gaze for three seconds.
Then he looked away.
May you like
And that was when his mother stood up, walked to the kitchen, and quietly closed the door behind her.
As if she already knew what was coming next and didn't want to be in the room for it.
