Chapter 3: The Photo on the Table
The photo was of me.
I was standing outside the tattoo studio, and the artist — a tall man in his thirties with dark hair — had his arms around me.
My face was turned slightly away from the camera.
His was not.
To anyone who didn't know the truth, it looked exactly like what Rob feared it was.
"Where did you get this?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, Rob.
It matters a great deal.
Someone took that photo and sent it to you.
Don't you want to know who?"
He looked away.
"I want to know why you're in it."
"It was a hug goodbye.
He's the artist.
I was there for forty minutes while he copied Lily's drawing onto my arm.
That's all that happened."
"You didn't tell me you were going that day."
"I didn't think I needed to tell you every time I left the house."
He flinched.
I hadn't meant it to come out sharp, but it did.
"Rob." I sat down across from him.
"Look at me.
Please."
He did.
His jaw was tight, but his eyes were the eyes I'd known for thirty-one years — uncertain, not cruel.
"Someone sent you that photo on purpose," I said.
"Someone was there that day, outside that studio, and they waited for a moment that would look wrong.
And then they sent it to you without any context.
That's not someone who cares about our marriage.
That's someone who wants to damage it."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Who would do that?"
I had one name in my mind.
I'd had it since the moment I saw the photo.
But I didn't say it yet.
I needed to be sure.
"Let me see the message," I said.
"The one the photo came in."
He hesitated.
Then he slid the phone across the table.
The photo had come from a number I didn't recognize.
No name.
No message with it — just the image, sent at 6:14 in the evening, the same day I'd gotten the tattoo.
Whoever sent it hadn't waited long.
I scrolled up.
There were no earlier messages from that number.
I scrolled down.
One more line, sent an hour after the photo.
*You deserve to know who your wife really is.*
My hands were steady, but something cold moved through me.
"Rob.
This person followed me.
They stood outside that studio and waited.
And then they sent this to hurt you."
"Or to tell me the truth."
I set the phone down on the table between us.
"The truth is that I got a tattoo of our granddaughter's drawing because I love her.
The truth is that the artist hugged me the way people do when a session goes well.
The truth is that I have been faithful to you for thirty-one years." I paused.
"And the truth is that someone in our life wants you to believe otherwise."
He stared at the phone.
"Who has that number?" he asked.
"I don't know yet.
But I'm going to find out."
I picked up my own phone and took a photo of the screen — the unknown number, the timestamp, that final line.
Then I stood up.
"Where are you going?" Rob asked.
"To call our daughter-in-law."
The chair scraped back.
Rob stood up too.
"Why Sandra?"
I looked at him.
May you like
"Because Lily spent last Tuesday at Sandra's house.
And someone had to tell our six-year-old what to say."
