Chapter 1: The Man I Thought I Knew
My husband rushed to rub sunscreen on his beautiful boss's back after telling me he was "too sick" to touch mine—our 10-year-old son saw everything and taught him a lesson he never forgot.
My husband, Ryan, had been talking about his company beach picnic for weeks because his boss, Lauren, would be there, and he desperately wanted the promotion opening that fall.
That morning, I packed everything myself: towels, sandwiches, fruit, sunscreen, our son's football, and a cooler so heavy I had to drag it across the sand while Ryan walked ahead carrying only his phone.
"Come on, Claire," he called.
"Everyone's already here."
By the time I finally sat down, I was sweaty and exhausted.
Our ten-year-old son, Mason, ran toward the water, and I pulled off my cover-up to apply sunscreen.
"Ryan, could you get my back?
I can't reach the middle."
He barely glanced at me.
"Seriously?
I feel awful in this heat.
My head's pounding."
"But it'll take ten seconds."
He sighed dramatically.
"Claire, I said I don't feel well.
I need to get in the water and cool down."
Then Lauren arrived.
She was beautiful, tanned, and wearing an expensive white swimsuit beneath a sheer cover-up.
Ryan immediately stood straighter.
"Lauren!
Let me take your bag."
Five minutes earlier, he'd watched me struggle with our cooler.
Lauren laughed and mentioned she'd forgotten to put sunscreen on her shoulders.
Ryan grabbed our bottle before I could even process it.
"You'll burn," he said.
"Turn around.
I'll do your back."
I stared at him.
He carefully spread sunscreen across her shoulders, asking twice whether he'd missed a spot.
When Lauren said the sun was in her eyes, he moved our umbrella closer to her.
Then he brought her an ice-cold drink from the cooler I'd carried.
"I thought you felt sick," I said softly when he returned.
His smile disappeared.
"Don't embarrass me.
She's my boss."
"So you were too sick to touch my back, but you're fine rubbing hers?"
Ryan rolled his eyes.
"This is exactly why I hate bringing you to work events!
Stop being jealous.
You're always overreacting."
I felt my face burn hotter than my uncovered shoulders.
What Ryan didn't notice was Mason standing a few feet away.
He had heard everything.
For the next twenty minutes, Mason barely spoke.
He sat beside our beach bag, rummaging through it as though he were looking for one of his toys.
I didn't think anything of it.
Meanwhile, Ryan stretched comfortably across a lounge chair while Lauren and several coworkers stood nearby.
"Claire!" he called.
"Bring me something cold.
I'm roasting."
Before I could move, Mason suddenly grabbed my arm.
"I'll help Dad."
There was something in his voice that made me turn.
He took something out of the bag and walked straight toward Ryan.
Seconds later, my husband's scream echoed across the beach.
Every head turned.
Ryan jumped to his feet, staring at our son in disbelief.
"What the hell are you doing?" he screamed.
Mason looked at him calmly.
"Teaching you some manners, Dad."
Lauren's eyes went wide when she saw what Mason had done.
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What did Mason take out of that bag — and what did he do in front of Lauren and every coworker on that beach?
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