Speaker 1: When I pulled into our driveway on Thursday evening, I
Speaker 1: could see the kitchen windows glowing bright as always, but
Speaker 1: the curtains were pulled halfway shut, making the light spill
Speaker 1: out in odd stripes across the porch. I was balancing
Speaker 1: two overflowing grocery bags with my elbow when I heard laughter,
Speaker 1: their laughter, Jeff's and Christen's, rolling down the hallway even
Speaker 1: before I'd closed the front door behind me, our neighbor's
Speaker 1: voice softer, low and insistent, a contrast to Jeff's almost
Speaker 1: too loud response. I shifted the bags to my hip
Speaker 1: and stepped through the narrow hall, passing our prints and
Speaker 1: that crooked wall mirror we kept meaning to re hang.
Speaker 1: The smell of toasted bread and something sharp and citrusy
Speaker 1: hung in the air, familiar and welcoming, layered over the
Speaker 1: faintest whiff of sawdust that had trailed through the house
Speaker 1: since the first day of the renovation. When I reached
Speaker 1: the kitchen, Kristin and Jeff were bent close over the island,
Speaker 1: heads lowered toward a clutter of blueprints and a mess
Speaker 1: of loose papers. Two coffee mugs were jammed together at
Speaker 1: the edge a stack of sticky notes curling at the corners,
Speaker 1: a tape measure coiled near Jeff's hand. They didn't notice
Speaker 1: me at first, or more likely, pretended not to. Kristin
Speaker 1: had on those woven slippers she always wore over here,
Speaker 1: Hare pulled into a knot expression, a little flushed in
Speaker 1: the lamp light. Jeff glanced up, startled, and then immediately
Speaker 1: half stood, quick hands sliding a sheet of paper from
Speaker 1: on top of the pile, shoving it under a thick binder. Hey,
Speaker 1: I said, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door.
Speaker 1: Neither of them answered for a moment. Kristin straightened first,
Speaker 1: smoothing her shirt, smiling in that self deprecating way she
Speaker 1: always did when she felt awkward. Oh, Lauren, I thought
Speaker 1: you'd be late. Don't kill us. We couldn't resist diving
Speaker 1: into the plans. Yeah, sorry, Jeff said, too quickly, We
Speaker 1: got a little sidetracked. Kristin brought over some new ideas
Speaker 1: for the cabinet layout. His eyes darted to Kristin, to
Speaker 1: the blueprint, then to me, his smile too wide, too innocent.
Speaker 1: It was the face he used on contractors and his
Speaker 1: more difficult clients. Half friendly, half guarded. I brought the groceries.
Speaker 1: Hope you too aren't hungry for more take out, I called, teasing,
Speaker 1: searching for the lightness in the moment, Kristin let out
Speaker 1: her trademark's snort and reached for her mug. I noticed
Speaker 1: she'd painted her nails gold again. She caught me staring
Speaker 1: and flexed her fingers in a small joke. Don't worry,
Speaker 1: we left the heavy lifting for you. Jeff's been giving
Speaker 1: me his master class in kitchen design. It's intense, Lauren.
Speaker 1: I don't know how you keep up with all his details. Oh,
Speaker 1: I just nod and smile, I retorted, keeping my own
Speaker 1: tone breezy, but the air felt thin, charged with something
Speaker 1: I couldn't name, as if I'd walked into an inside
Speaker 1: joke that wouldn't be explained. Jeff's laugh rang out sharp
Speaker 1: and high, but his shoulders didn't relax. As I began
Speaker 1: putting away the groceries, I heard Jeff murmur something to Christin,
Speaker 1: low enough that I couldn't quite catch it. She giggled,
Speaker 1: and then Jeff, still keeping his eyes down, said it's
Speaker 1: our little secret. The phrase hung between them. Kristin smiled
Speaker 1: at him brief lingering, and then her eyes darted toward me.
Speaker 1: I pretended not to notice, but I felt suddenly like
Speaker 1: a guest in my own kitchen. I busied myself at
Speaker 1: the fridge, breath shallow, pretending to study a jar of
Speaker 1: olives as though it mattered. The words echoed in my head.
Speaker 1: Was he joking? Jeff was always a flirt, always collecting small,
Speaker 1: meaningless secrets. Our friend group was littered with them, nicknames,
Speaker 1: silly mishaps, surprise party plans. So why did it feel
Speaker 1: different this time? I watched them from the corner of
Speaker 1: my eye. Kristin's hand rested just for a beat on
Speaker 1: Jeff's arm as she pointed to a note. He glanced
Speaker 1: at her, grinned, and then quickly looked away. When I
Speaker 1: turned their focus returned to the plans on the countertop,
Speaker 1: but the charged hush lingered. Later, as I poured a
Speaker 1: glass of cheapsinfandle Jeff stood up abruptly and announced, I'm
Speaker 1: going to walk Kristen out. He ushered her toward the hall,
Speaker 1: voices dropping to a murmur. I lingered a moment longer
Speaker 1: in the kitchen, listening. I told myself that they were
Speaker 1: discussing measurements. Maybe the best would finish for the counters,
Speaker 1: or the ongoing back and forth about open shelving, the
Speaker 1: kind of practical details I was always looped in on
Speaker 1: before I tried to unwind that night, curled up in bed,
Speaker 1: the mattress cold on Jeff's side, I repositioned the pillow,
Speaker 1: replayed that moment in my head, Jeff's laugh, Christen's delighted smile,
Speaker 1: the blueprints scattered everywhere when Jeff eventually slid under the covers.
Speaker 1: I forced myself to act as though nothing was wrong.
Speaker 1: But I couldn't let go of those three words, a
Speaker 1: little seat. They threaded through my mind, insistent and strange,
Speaker 1: as if they were a splinter working its way under
Speaker 1: my skin. It's never just one moment, or so I
Speaker 1: told myself for the thousandth time in the days that followed.
Speaker 1: Suspicion isn't planted all at once. Its seeps slow, as rust,
Speaker 1: clotting the corners of things you used to take for granted.
Speaker 1: Before Jeff and Christen's kitchen summit, before this night that
Speaker 1: pressed in shadows on either side, my marriage had felt,
Speaker 1: if not perfect, then at least solid. I held to that,
Speaker 1: even as I woke beside Jeff and watched him sleep,
Speaker 1: the traces of laughter still creasing his eyes. I made
Speaker 1: myself remember what brought us this far, what should keep
Speaker 1: us together now? We met at New Year's five years back,
Speaker 1: an invitation to a friend of a friend's rooftop party,
Speaker 1: the kind of event where everyone pretended not to be
Speaker 1: freezing in their party clothes. Jeff had arrived in a
Speaker 1: threadbare tuxedo jacket, a kitchen plastic crown askew on his head,
Speaker 1: carrying three bottles of prosecco, like a party favour Santa.
Speaker 1: He'd made me laugh before had even caught his name.
Speaker 1: I remember the fizz on my tongue, and how he
Speaker 1: handed me a shimmering scarf from a lost and Found box, saying,
Speaker 1: where this it matches your spirit? We spent the entire
Speaker 1: night trading stories, our boots soaked from melted ice, rent
Speaker 1: controlled apartments, and impossible dreams. After that, it had been
Speaker 1: a fast fall, late night road trips to the coast,
Speaker 1: spur of the moment hikes, weekends tearing up thrift stores
Speaker 1: for ugly lamps. Jeff's energy was endless. I loved how
Speaker 1: he could make anything fun how he made the act
Speaker 1: of building a life together seem like the wildest adventure.
Speaker 1: He dazzled me sometimes he still does, even on days
Speaker 1: when he's tangled in a spreadsheet or out pacing me
Speaker 1: in a half argument about countertop samples and where to
Speaker 1: place the fridge. Our circle of friends Erica and Colin,
Speaker 1: Kristen and Mark, sometimes a few others, became a second family.
Speaker 1: We threw dinner parties where everyone outdid themselves with themed
Speaker 1: drinks and ridiculous charades, a messy, glittering kind of community
Speaker 1: I had always wanted. Mark and Kristin lived next door,
Speaker 1: a practical arrangement that swiftly passed into a real friendship.
Speaker 1: If anything, Kristin was the glue that kept us all
Speaker 1: in balance, a dependable planner, quick with a joke, and
Speaker 1: full of wild ideas that Jeff couldn't resist running with
Speaker 1: her husband. Mark was quieter, often happy to let Kristin
Speaker 1: be the star at gatherings. When we all started talking
Speaker 1: about kitchen updates, it felt natural to loop Kristin in.
Speaker 1: She done her own reno last year, and even Jeff,
Speaker 1: obsessive about having control over every detail, valued her input.
Speaker 1: The house came after two years of saving our very
Speaker 1: own mid century fixer upper with sloped ceilings and dingy
Speaker 1: original everything. The kitchen was a particular sore spot. Linoleum floors,
Speaker 1: curling up life potato peels, a clunky oven that whistled
Speaker 1: at random, fridge wedged beneath an ill fitting cabinet. We'd
Speaker 1: made spreadsheets Lauren's dream kitchen boards ruled the planning app
Speaker 1: we both shared. Geoff would tease me, You're the only
Speaker 1: person I know who colour codes their cravings. Jeff's work
Speaker 1: in commercial real estate brought in the larger checks, but
Speaker 1: he was always just a little fast and loose with money.
Speaker 1: It'll sort itself out, babe, he joke. He'd float big ideas,
Speaker 1: cruise vacations, expensive countertop upgrades, grand gestures, while I double
Speaker 1: checked bills, kept an eye on our shared account, made little,
Speaker 1: coarse corrections in the spreadsheet. I trusted him, not that
Speaker 1: we never fought, but the kind of trust that emerges
Speaker 1: from thousands of minor routines. The way he always grabbed
Speaker 1: my hand under the table at parties, how he play
Speaker 1: wrestled me with dish towels on Sunday mornings. The notes
Speaker 1: he'd sneak into my sketch book, inside jokes that would
Speaker 1: make me laugh in the middle of conference calls. But
Speaker 1: in the last few months, a tightness had crept in
Speaker 1: words caught in his throat. More often, nights stretched out
Speaker 1: with him on the couch, laptop glowing blue into the
Speaker 1: small hours, claiming just one more email to send. Budget
Speaker 1: talks became land minds. He'd snap or simply change the subject.
Speaker 1: I chalked it up to stress. Renovations fray even the
Speaker 1: sturdiest partnerships, don't they still all that lay under the surface.
Speaker 1: As I drifted off that night, arm draped on his chest,
Speaker 1: breathing the familiar scent of his skin, but feeling for
Speaker 1: the first time a thin wedge of distance. Neither of
Speaker 1: us dared name. The next hint came fast. Just days later.
Speaker 1: I cut my work appointments short, client canceled last second.
Speaker 1: I parked on our street just before four, carrying my
Speaker 1: tablet and an armful of fabric samples. I expected an
Speaker 1: empty house or maybe Jeff on a zoom call his
Speaker 1: tiere skew surrounded by chaos. Instead, voices filled altered from
Speaker 1: the back, laughter that was more relaxed than I had
Speaker 1: heard in weeks. I found them perched side by side
Speaker 1: at the kitchen island. Kristin was mid story, animated her
Speaker 1: hands drawing circles in the condensation from a wine glass.
Speaker 1: The blueprint was rolled out, one that looked distinctly different
Speaker 1: from the doggy adversion I d last scene. It was
Speaker 1: the wine glasses that got me two, both nearly empty,
Speaker 1: one resting inside the faint outline from where it had
Speaker 1: sat for more than one Poor Jeff startled, eyes flickering
Speaker 1: across my face. Hey, aren't you supposed to be at
Speaker 1: the Andersen walk through? Client flaked you guys celebrating something.
Speaker 1: Kristin flashed her grin too big, the one she uses
Speaker 1: to reset a room. We were just brainstorming. I think
Speaker 1: Jeff might actually have a way to get your wall
Speaker 1: oven and his bar fridge. She waggled her eyebrows. Some
Speaker 1: serious fantasy geometry happening. I hung my jacket, nodded at
Speaker 1: the blueprints. These new Jeff shrugged, acting suddenly bored. Kristin
Speaker 1: thought up a corner banquette. We'll probably stick to the
Speaker 1: original plan, though he moved to his laptop, clattering away,
Speaker 1: making a show of searching for a file. Kristin, for
Speaker 1: all her jokes, had gone quiet, twisting the stem of
Speaker 1: her glass. After they'd left, and the dishwasher hummed in
Speaker 1: the corner, I noticed something on the floor beneath the barstool,
Speaker 1: A teardrop shaped stud, gold and small, dusted with a
Speaker 1: speck of glitter. Instinctively, I squeezed it in my palm, Kristen's.
Speaker 1: She'd worn them to our last poker night. It felt strange,
Speaker 1: almost intimate, finding it here, somewhere I would have stepped
Speaker 1: on any other day. I left it on the counter.
Speaker 1: When I mentioned it the next day, Jeff just laughed
Speaker 1: and nudged Kristin. You shedding jewels again. Kristin rolled her
Speaker 1: eyes and reached out her palm. I swear I'm hopeless,
Speaker 1: But behind her easy smile I spotted something that looked practiced,
Speaker 1: a brush off she'd rehearsed before. I knew it was unfair.
Speaker 1: The house was a war zone, and Kristen was always
Speaker 1: losing things. But I tucked the earring away, and the
Speaker 1: junk drawer just the same, beneath old receipts and keys
Speaker 1: that never unlocked anything. That night, with my sketch pad open.
Speaker 1: I absently drew the outline of the earring, again and
Speaker 1: again until the shape lost all meaning. I pressed hard
Speaker 1: until my pencil nearly tore through the paper, trying to
Speaker 1: shake the feeling that I was missing something obvious. Over
Speaker 1: the following weeks, the unease gathered mass, slowly tilting the
Speaker 1: center of my little world. First, it announced itself as
Speaker 1: disruptions in the schedule, the gentle erosion of our routines.
Speaker 1: It began with Jeff's texts running late, contractor issue or
Speaker 1: Christen and I are brainstorming finishes, go ahead and eat.
Speaker 1: That was one thing, renovations ate time. But then the
Speaker 1: money started leaking out, nickeling and dimming us far faster
Speaker 1: than we'd planned. I spotted a string of transactions from
Speaker 1: Ace Hardware, odd in themselves, because Jeff had written that
Speaker 1: he needed only a sander, yet the receipts showed odd bits.
Speaker 1: A packet of wood glue here, tile spaces there, a
Speaker 1: second hand might have saw. Oddest was the frequency, sometimes
Speaker 1: nearly daily, when Jeff swore he was just at home,
Speaker 1: drawing out kitchen elevations or fielding supplier calls home later
Speaker 1: and later projects turning into a beast, he'd say, setting
Speaker 1: down take out bags, always joined by an excuse like
Speaker 1: Kristin knows a guy who can get Tile's wholesale, or
Speaker 1: needed to grab a drink with her to hash out
Speaker 1: these changes. Everything seemed contingent on Kristen, her contacts, her timing,
Speaker 1: her sense of design. He started shutting down my suggestions.
Speaker 1: Let s leave the budget to me and Mark. It's
Speaker 1: boring number stuff, Jeff would say. If I asked about
Speaker 1: a ballooning invoice or a new purchase that didn't quite
Speaker 1: fit the spreadsheet I'd built, he wasn't angry, just closed off.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I'd find them heads together over the marble slab sample,
Speaker 1: their conversation veering into barely audible territory as I putted
Speaker 1: in the den, feeling pasted over in my own home.
Speaker 1: I tried to wedge myself into their meetings, showing up
Speaker 1: with snacks or extra notebooks, but Jeff would wave me off.
Speaker 1: It's just boring stuff, babe, logistics, calendar headaches. You don't
Speaker 1: want to sit through us fighting over grout colors and
Speaker 1: lead times. Kristin would echo him, adding her own gentle apologies.
Speaker 1: It's room by room tedium Lauren, I promise our next
Speaker 1: backyard barbecue thrown together so we could show off our
Speaker 1: mostly completed patio. Lights had the usual suspects, Kristin and Mark,
Speaker 1: Erica and Colin, Rob and Simer from down the block.
Speaker 1: Everyone wore shorts and hats and stole bites from Erica's
Speaker 1: tray of brownies. But I watched Kristin and Jeff across
Speaker 1: the lawn, bent over the grill, sharing a laugh that
Speaker 1: left both of them slightly pink cheeked and breathless. I's
Speaker 1: not meeting mine, even when I refilled their drinks. I
Speaker 1: wanted to join them, but the bubble held tight. Mark,
Speaker 1: dealing with the kids from next door, seemed unbothered, chatting
Speaker 1: with Erica and piling his plate with ribs. It all
Speaker 1: felt normal and at the same time completely alien. I
Speaker 1: tried gently to check in with Jeff one night after
Speaker 1: dinner as he sorted through contractor emils. I said, we're
Speaker 1: racking up hardware store charges. Are we buying gold plated forcets?
Speaker 1: He didn't laugh, just frowned. Mark and I are covering
Speaker 1: the overridges. Kristin says, the delivery fees are nuts. Right now,
Speaker 1: nothing's wrong, just the price of doing it right. I
Speaker 1: let it go, and then wished I hadn't. When Saturday
Speaker 1: rolled around and Jeff said he'd be out most of
Speaker 1: the afternoon picking up some specialty hinges. I nodded, planning
Speaker 1: to squeeze in a net app and call my parents.
Speaker 1: But when I poured the last of the laundry into
Speaker 1: the machine, I noticed a receipt poking from Jeff's jeans,
Speaker 1: a coffee shop tab, two lattes, and a note reading
Speaker 1: Downtown Bistro, thank you for your business. The Beistro was
Speaker 1: nowhere near the hardware district, and certainly not a supply store.
Speaker 1: I held on to the slip for a full day
Speaker 1: before dropping it on the kitchen counter. Jeff just grinned.
Speaker 1: When I asked catch up with a client, He shrugged
Speaker 1: Kristin and I ran into a countertop guy there, small world.
Speaker 1: He kissed my forehead and went back to his laptop.
Speaker 1: Something in me twisted a small, almost childish desire to
Speaker 1: storm over and demand a fuller answer, but instead I
Speaker 1: swallowed my suspicion and returned to my own work, pretending
Speaker 1: the explanations still fit together. Our sex life seemed to
Speaker 1: slide into a slow frieze too. I'd brush up against
Speaker 1: him at the sink, suggest skipping yet another night of
Speaker 1: LEFTO for bed, but he'd yawn and mumble. Gunner finished
Speaker 1: this order before I forget babe. There were no big fights,
Speaker 1: no accusations, just a spreading cool emptiness that neither of
Speaker 1: us acknowledged. One evening, in a moment of real panic,
Speaker 1: I called Erica. I tried to make my concern sound light.
Speaker 1: Do you think Jeff and Kristen are spending too much
Speaker 1: time together? She hesitated, then told me to trust Jeff.
Speaker 1: You know him. He flirts with every one and means nothing.
Speaker 1: She said Mark would see if anything was off right,
Speaker 1: but a quiet note entered her voice. Do you notice
Speaker 1: Kristin stays even when Mark heads out early? She's bored?
Speaker 1: Nothing more? I laughed, but there was a tremor beneath it.
Speaker 1: A week later, in a fit of desperation, I did
Speaker 1: something I'd always promised myself I wouldn't. I peeked at
Speaker 1: Jeff's phone when he left it on the kitchen island
Speaker 1: during a late night. The message threads with Kristin were
Speaker 1: at first exactly as expected. Shipping delays contractor complaints, helevarious
Speaker 1: photos of wonky tile samples, but scattered between the professional
Speaker 1: updates were inside jokes, had never heard, chains of emojis,
Speaker 1: an inside duo of egg plants and cocktail glasses, the
Speaker 1: winking face Jeff used only with me, a recurring phrase
Speaker 1: don't let us see my stomach fluttered hot and cold.
Speaker 1: Kristen used our shared neighborly expense app. I started checking
Speaker 1: her reimbursements, tracking the dates. I noticed that sometimes hotel
Speaker 1: charges would appear marked group dinner, Jeff sometimes contract a meeting.
Speaker 1: They became a steady background hum, like the sound of
Speaker 1: distant thunder. Our joint account, which I had always tracked
Speaker 1: so easily, began to show longer stretches of unexplained withdrawals,
Speaker 1: some labeled vaguely, others just blank. I tried to talk
Speaker 1: it out with Jeff, but each attempt dissolved into him
Speaker 1: suggesting I was spiraling or seeing patterns where there aren't any.
Speaker 1: He always promised things would even out once the kitchen
Speaker 1: was done. Then, during a particularly tense dinner, Mark half dipsy,
Speaker 1: having lost a bet on the pool game, made a
Speaker 1: joke Kristin and Jeff should just switch partners, given how
Speaker 1: much time they glued together these days, The table fell
Speaker 1: awkwardly silent. I tried to laugh along, but I could
Speaker 1: feel eyes on me. Jeff immediately cracked a joke about
Speaker 1: Mark wanting to steal me away for my killer Sangria.
Speaker 1: Kristin busied herself clearing plates, her back far too straight.
Speaker 1: That night, I lay awake, Jeff asleep on his side,
Speaker 1: with his back to me. I listened to the rattle
Speaker 1: of the old thermostat and counted the cracks in the ceiling.
Speaker 1: Every time I thought I might drift off, The word
Speaker 1: secret replayed on loop, edged with doubt and panic and
Speaker 1: the sickening possibility that I was wrong about everything. Was
Speaker 1: I paranoid making something out of nothing? Or was I
Speaker 1: missing something? Staring me in the face, Almost as if
Speaker 1: Jeff saw the gathering clouds, he changed course. The follow week,
Speaker 1: he surprised me with a dinner reservation at our favorite
Speaker 1: French bistro, the one with the lavender tart we both craved.
Speaker 1: He shaved before leaving the house iron his shirt. Grinned
Speaker 1: at me across the table in the flickering candlelight. There
Speaker 1: was even a moment after we'd shared a bottle of
Speaker 1: chilled white when I could imagine us easily slipping back
Speaker 1: into our old rhythm. I know I've been busy, he said,
Speaker 1: reaching for my hand. The renovations taken over. I'm sorry
Speaker 1: there was this wiring issue. Kristin espen a godsend, but
Speaker 1: it's complicated, he explained, away the costs extra wiring, finishing, nails,
Speaker 1: tile returns. Offered to share the spreadsheet, even though deep
Speaker 1: down we both knew that Jeff's spreadsheet was a collection
Speaker 1: of highlighted emails and scribbled post its. He apologized for
Speaker 1: all the late nights, stressed that he wanted us to
Speaker 1: be on the same page. When we got home. He
Speaker 1: opened up the project plans for me, walked through every decision,
Speaker 1: even suggesting I joined the next meeting with Kristin and
Speaker 1: the contractor. Erica came over that Saturday afternoon, bringing pastries
Speaker 1: and a stack of gossip magazines. I told her everything
Speaker 1: Jeff had said. Embarrassed at how convinced I'd been of
Speaker 1: his guilt, she hugged me, then propped her feet on
Speaker 1: the coffee table. See you're just run down. Leave the
Speaker 1: project chaos to Jeff and Kristen if something was really
Speaker 1: going on, you'd know. The next contractor meeting was in fact,
Speaker 1: excruciatingly dull. Kristin sat stiffly at the edge of the table,
Speaker 1: hair pulled tightly back, barely glancing at Jeff except to
Speaker 1: ask clarifying questions. She even corrected herself twice, apologizing for
Speaker 1: delays in the millwork schedule, always in the voice she
Speaker 1: used for business calls. The contractor droned about schedules and
Speaker 1: code issues. I found myself doodling patterns in the margin
Speaker 1: of my note book, deeply relieved that nothing was amiss
Speaker 1: after all, for the first time in weeks, my suspicion
Speaker 1: shrank into embarrassment. At home, I laughed about it with Erica,
Speaker 1: telling her how professional, even boring, Kristin had seemed. Maybe
Speaker 1: I'm just jealous of their ideas, I joked. She told
Speaker 1: me to enjoy being off renovation duty while I could.
Speaker 1: But the next morning, as I sought it a fresh
Speaker 1: load of laundry, my relief died in my throat. A
Speaker 1: receipt fluttered out of Jeff's Jeanes. It was for two cocktails,
Speaker 1: Negroni and gin Fizz at a hotel bar, time stamped
Speaker 1: the night Jeff said he was working late on the
Speaker 1: wiring budget with Christin. The happiness I'd managed to stitch
Speaker 1: together the night before was gone, replaced by something heavier
Speaker 1: and uglier than before. The rest of that day, I
Speaker 1: drifted between small tasks, hands clumsy as I put away groceries,
Speaker 1: the receipt burning in my pocket, I pictured the bar
Speaker 1: low lighting, intimacy forced by rounded booths, the same kind
Speaker 1: Jeff had taken me to back in those early post
Speaker 1: New Year week ends, when the world seemed only as
Speaker 1: wide as our next date. I forced myself to sit
Speaker 1: down and collect the last three months of receipts, bank statements,
Speaker 1: and the expense app notifications. What had seemed like harmless
Speaker 1: proximity now looked like a pattern. The hotel bars, the
Speaker 1: dual dinner charges, the cash with drawers at odd hours.
Speaker 1: I tried, at first to believe that it was stress
Speaker 1: late night meetings that drifted from business to comfort, lines
Speaker 1: blurred by too much time together. But the emoji chains,
Speaker 1: the coded secret getaway jokes, the missing Saturday afternoons didn't
Speaker 1: fit that version of the story any more. Still, I
Speaker 1: couldn't quite let go of the idea that I might
Speaker 1: be wrong that the sum of all these oddities was
Speaker 1: a coincidence or a tangled side effect of all of
Speaker 1: us being too close, too interconnected. I called Christen that evening,
Speaker 1: trying to sound casual. I saw your charge at the
Speaker 1: hotel bar last week. I said, did you two run
Speaker 1: into another delay? She fumbled for a second. Something I
Speaker 1: heard in the stutter between her words. Yeah. We were just,
Speaker 1: you know, on our way back from the contractor meeting,
Speaker 1: and Jeff wanted to check out the tile display in
Speaker 1: the lobby. We just grabbed a quick drink. They had
Speaker 1: a great happy hour. She moved on quickly, asking if
Speaker 1: I'd seen the tile samples she left in my mail box. Later,
Speaker 1: I forced myself to face Mark when we ran into
Speaker 1: each other by our trash bins. He mentioned off handedly
Speaker 1: how much time Kristen was spending helping Jeff. I watched
Speaker 1: his eyes as he realized out loud how often both
Speaker 1: their spouses were missing during the same windows. He made
Speaker 1: a face more annoyance than suspicion, and changed the subject.
Speaker 1: On a hunch, I searched through our shared renovation app,
Speaker 1: scrolling deeper through every project note and file upload in
Speaker 1: among kitchen measurements and vendor invoices. I found late night
Speaker 1: exchanges that veered into flirting jokes about secret getaways, photos
Speaker 1: of half built cabinets accompanied by winking faces, and inside
Speaker 1: quips about leaving something behind for you to find. One
Speaker 1: was labeled for your eyes only, an image that mercifully
Speaker 1: turned out to be a project meme, but still something
Speaker 1: about the intimacy of it rattled me. Saturday morning brought
Speaker 1: our wedding anniversary. Jeff was distracted, staring at his phone
Speaker 1: as I slipped the gold chain he'd given me two
Speaker 1: years ago around my neck. He fumbled through breakfast, biting
Speaker 1: his lip, eventually groaning shit, I forgot to make a reservation.
Speaker 1: We ended up eating takeout sushi, sitting cross legged on
Speaker 1: the bare sub floor of the half finished kitchen, not talking.
Speaker 1: The silence between us wide as the ungrouted tiles. Even
Speaker 1: in that dim morning light, with the blueprints spread before
Speaker 1: us and the cabinets half installed, I could no longer
Speaker 1: convince myself that there was nothing to this story but stress.
Speaker 1: The outlines of the affair, emotional possibly physical, became undeniable,
Speaker 1: even if Jeff refused to be the one to draw them.
Speaker 1: For me that afternoon, my hands trembling, I stacked up
Speaker 1: a folder with everything I'd gathered, receipts, bank records, my notes,
Speaker 1: enough to confront him, enough to stop pretending. But I
Speaker 1: couldn't bring myself to finish it, not yet. The heartbreak,
Speaker 1: the anger, the blankness. I felt all of it, but
Speaker 1: I wasn't ready. The kitchen was suspended, our life together incomplete,
Speaker 1: and still still part of me wanted the story to
Speaker 1: twist back towards safety. Instead, I sat on the porch,
Speaker 1: staring at the scattered twilight and the blue glow of
Speaker 1: the laptop screens, still burning long into the evening, waiting
Speaker 1: for Jeff to come home. I watched the street unfurl
Speaker 1: into darkness, porch light pooling half heartedly around the cracked sidewalk.
Speaker 1: The neighbor's dog barked once twice, then went silent, its
Speaker 1: shape barely visible beyond the fence. Every so often a
Speaker 1: car crawled past, none of them the familiar shape of
Speaker 1: Jeff Soubaru. The air was dense, smelling faintly of cut
Speaker 1: grass and the heavy promise of rain. I tried to
Speaker 1: focus on that, on anything other than the bile of anticipation.
Speaker 1: Coiling in my stomach. My phone buzzed, Jeff on my way.
Speaker 1: Ran later at Christen's contractor call see you soon. I
Speaker 1: read it twice at kristin s the casualness grated. Was
Speaker 1: he daring me to doubt it? Or was this just
Speaker 1: his new reality? Her place as much his domain as ours.
Speaker 1: I tapped out a bland o k heart drumming thumb,
Speaker 1: hovering over the letters before pressing send. When Jeff finally
Speaker 1: trudged up the walk, he looked defeated, wind rumpeled, distracted.
Speaker 1: His hair was messy in a way that suggested not
Speaker 1: wind but hands. He flashed a tired smile, shrugging out
Speaker 1: of his jacket. Longest call ever. We still don't know
Speaker 1: if the supplier can do the handles you want. He
Speaker 1: headed for the sink, ignoring the stack of opened mail
Speaker 1: bank statements a softly accusing pile. I followed him. I
Speaker 1: called the supplier this afternoon. They said, the hardware ships
Speaker 1: next week. He turned, taken aback, caught for a second.
Speaker 1: Oh ah, must have been another thing. He busied himself
Speaker 1: with the coffee pot. You hungry? Did you eat? A
Speaker 1: stream of small talk, frantic and thin. I let him
Speaker 1: fill the space. Not trusting what would crawl out if
Speaker 1: I interrupted, that night's sleep was impossible. I went down
Speaker 1: to the half finished kitchen, lights off so the world
Speaker 1: outside pressed close against the glass. I picked up one
Speaker 1: of the blueprints from the pile, tracing its sharply inked lines,
Speaker 1: then let my finger drift to the margin where some
Speaker 1: one Christen's rounded, looping hand had scribbled let's steal this
Speaker 1: for our next reno jye, then a smiley face. The
Speaker 1: intimacy of her mark felt wrong. I heard Jeff's phantom laugh,
Speaker 1: Christin's tinkle of a response, and for a moment I
Speaker 1: pictured them side by side, somewhere I was never shown.
Speaker 1: The next day was Sunday, and with little warning, rain arrived.
Speaker 1: The house was dim, a patchwork of lamplight and shadow.
Speaker 1: As I swept sawdust into little piles between cardboard covered boxes,
Speaker 1: Jeff appeared as if summoned by the weather, swiping absently
Speaker 1: at his phone. We had planned to meet Mark and
Speaker 1: Kristen at the tile store, but at breakfast Jeff claimed
Speaker 1: they rescheduled last minute. A supplier got COVID, so the
Speaker 1: stores shut for a sanitization. No problem, But when I
Speaker 1: checked the tile stores Instagram. They posted a live story
Speaker 1: half an hour later, open to day Sunday samples until two.
Speaker 1: I stared at Jeff, who sat at the opposite end
Speaker 1: of the couch, eyes glazed over a scrolling news feed.
Speaker 1: I said nothing, storing the lie for later. The silence
Speaker 1: between us a heavy, familiar quilt round noon, Erika called,
Speaker 1: asking if I wanted to escape the construction zone and
Speaker 1: join her for coffee. I jumped at it, craving an
Speaker 1: outside perspective, maybe even normalcy Erica was always the anchor
Speaker 1: when storms hit. We sat in a tiny cafe, rain
Speaker 1: streaking the window cups between us. How s progress, she asked,
Speaker 1: Jeff seemed strung out last time I saw him. I hesitated,
Speaker 1: then told her about the tile store, his excuses, the
Speaker 1: way the money was evaporating. She chewed her lip, then said,
Speaker 1: maybe he's covering up miss deadlines. Her brow furrowed. She
Speaker 1: looked for a solution. Are you sure it's not just stress?
Speaker 1: Every one's on edge with renovations. Kristin told me she's
Speaker 1: working more hours too. Maybe they're just both stretched. I
Speaker 1: want so badly to believe that, I said, but it
Speaker 1: keeps not adding up. I found another receipt for a
Speaker 1: hotel bar same day as a supposed late meeting, and
Speaker 1: Kristin's alibi for that night had holes. Erica was quiet,
Speaker 1: swirling the dregs in her cup. You know, sometimes people
Speaker 1: get emotionally close without meaning it, like project crushes. Have
Speaker 1: you talked to Kristin, not as an accuser, just as
Speaker 1: a friend? I tried, She deflects. I feel like I'm
Speaker 1: watching a play where I'm the only one who doesn't
Speaker 1: know the script. My voice broke just a little. Erica
Speaker 1: squeezed my wrist. Keep your eyes open, law, but also,
Speaker 1: don't drive yourself nuts. If you ever want to crash
Speaker 1: at my place, just say it. She looked at me
Speaker 1: something worried and knowing in her expression. I decided to
Speaker 1: take a different tack. The house had always been my
Speaker 1: terrain schedules, bills, kitchen plans. Jeff managed the big negotiations,
Speaker 1: but I ran the details. For the next week, I
Speaker 1: quietly documented every charge purchase text. I started printing things, statements,
Speaker 1: emails and putting them in an old sketch book, stacking
Speaker 1: it behind the puzzle boxes in my studio. I didn't
Speaker 1: have a real plan, but the act of collecting felt
Speaker 1: like the last anchor of control. One morning, after Jeff
Speaker 1: hurried out for a breakfast with the h VAC guy,
Speaker 1: I wanted into the kitchen. Kristin's mug was still on
Speaker 1: the counter, a lipstick print at the rim. She must
Speaker 1: have stopped by, though she hadn't mentioned it in the
Speaker 1: neighbor chat and Jeff hadn't said a word. I placed
Speaker 1: the mug in the sink with more force than necessary.
Speaker 1: At that moment, the front door creaked, and Kristin appeared, breathless,
Speaker 1: clutching a swatch of fabric. Oh, hey, I forgot my bag,
Speaker 1: Jeff said, you were still sleeping. I didn't want to
Speaker 1: wake you, she said, eyes sliding away. Her ponatail was messy,
Speaker 1: and she was wearing an old sweatshirt, one with a
Speaker 1: faded logo from our last couple's camping trip. I watched
Speaker 1: her move around the kitchen, unnecessarily busy, looking everywhere but
Speaker 1: at me. Are you staying long? I thought Jeff was
Speaker 1: gone for the morning. Kristin hesitated, He was. He just
Speaker 1: wanted to see these swatches before heading out. Anyway, I
Speaker 1: should run Mark s waiting at home. She snatched her
Speaker 1: tote and made for the door, pausing at the threshold.
Speaker 1: Call me if you want to look over the back
Speaker 1: splash samples later. Sure, I replied, with a smile that
Speaker 1: didn't fit. She was gone before I finished speaking. By
Speaker 1: lunch time, my thoughts pressed in on themselves. I gathered
Speaker 1: the receipts, opened our shared neighbor's app, and started matching
Speaker 1: Kristen's charges to jeff S. Duplicate bills showed up joint dinners,
Speaker 1: two hotel bars two days apart, both with identical amounts
Speaker 1: but labeled vaguely. I highlighted the matches, the lines forming webs,
Speaker 1: a grid of overlap, claustrophobic in its implications. Later that week,
Speaker 1: Mark stopped me on the walkway, his arms full of groceries.
Speaker 1: He tried to smile, but his eyes flicked over my shoulder,
Speaker 1: as if looking for something he'd forgotten. Full house over there,
Speaker 1: he asked, nodding at our porch. Just me and the
Speaker 1: endless renovation, I joked. Kristin es been out late most nights,
Speaker 1: he said, not quite casually. She says she's meeting with
Speaker 1: Jeff about the cabinets, but sometimes I see his car
Speaker 1: parked in a driveway after midnight. He laughed, as though
Speaker 1: it was harmless. I matched his tone, but his words
Speaker 1: stayed with me long after I stepped inside. I began
Speaker 1: looking for tiny traces, scents, notes, signals that would either
Speaker 1: damn or exonerate them. In the pile of blueprints on
Speaker 1: the kitchen island, I found a post it with a doodle,
Speaker 1: two intertwined forks and the words for to night, don't
Speaker 1: share with l My pulse leapt. I slipped the note
Speaker 1: into my pocket and later pressed it flat in my
Speaker 1: sketch book. The next day, the note was gone from
Speaker 1: the original spot. Jeff must have missed it. Jeff's mood shifted,
Speaker 1: like he could sense I was pulling away. He started
Speaker 1: sending me silly memes during the work day, again calling
Speaker 1: for quick checkins, missed you at breakfast, or survived another
Speaker 1: contractor rant dinner at home. To night he even texted,
Speaker 1: we should take a break, just us, no blueprints, no spreadsheets,
Speaker 1: just wine and bad movies. It was almost believable, But
Speaker 1: at night the space between us remained. We lay together,
Speaker 1: silent backs, just close enough to touch, but rarely meeting.
Speaker 1: Sometimes he slept in the guest room so he could
Speaker 1: work late without keeping me up. Once I tiptoed downstairs
Speaker 1: at two a m. For water and saw the ghostly
Speaker 1: blue glow from the den, A low voice murmuring jeffes,
Speaker 1: but someone else's replying half laughter and half whispered plans.
Speaker 1: I froze, breath catching before padding quietly back up stairs.
Speaker 1: By now, the project app was a minefield. In the
Speaker 1: document comments, I saw their voices more than my own.
Speaker 1: Let's tweak the time, then I'll swing by after the
Speaker 1: trainer Jay. Or could we swap the marble for quartz?
Speaker 1: Keeps it between us? The winks strung more than any
Speaker 1: explicit language could. On a desperate Thursday, I scheduled myself
Speaker 1: to work from home, determined to insert myself into the
Speaker 1: middle of their process. Jeff was surprised, slightly irritated, I thought,
Speaker 1: when he found me at the breakfast table with my
Speaker 1: laptop and a stack of design ideas, you're actually free
Speaker 1: to day, he asked, watching me too long, I thought
Speaker 1: we'd work together, I replied, too cheerful. He made a
Speaker 1: show of rearranging his own files, but mostly worked in silence,
Speaker 1: eyes flicking up to check his phone whenever it buzzed
Speaker 1: at lunch, he announced, I'm heading to Christen's to drop
Speaker 1: off these samples. Back in a bit. I stood, grabbed
Speaker 1: my keys. How about I join two mines? You know,
Speaker 1: and your arms for carrying? He faltered. She's um, it's
Speaker 1: really just a handoff. She's got a work call in five.
Speaker 1: I smiled, ignored him, and left the table to find
Speaker 1: my shoes. He gave in, muttering whatever makes you happy.
Speaker 1: As we walked, Jeff was distant, offering logistical details, but
Speaker 1: never meeting my eyes. When we arrived, Kristin opened the door,
Speaker 1: already flustered, clutching her phone as though she'd been interrupted
Speaker 1: mid conversation. Oh hey, Lauren, I wasn't expecting both of you.
Speaker 1: Her eyes darted from Jeff to me and back. For
Speaker 1: the next ten minutes, they debated drawer placement, rarely looping
Speaker 1: me in. I asked a question about the island, but
Speaker 1: Christin responded with a half hearted we can check that later,
Speaker 1: don't worry. I watched Jeff, noting the way his hand
Speaker 1: hovered at her back as they both leaned over a
Speaker 1: cabinet order form back home. As Jeff disappeared into the den,
Speaker 1: I felt a cold certainty, bloom. The truth, whatever it was,
Speaker 1: was being sterilized for my benefit. I was an observer,
Speaker 1: never a participant. Friday brought a new twist. Erica showed
Speaker 1: up mid morning with coffee and a brittle smile. You know,
Speaker 1: Mark called me last night, she said, perching on the
Speaker 1: edge of the couch, asking about whether Jeff was planning
Speaker 1: another big dinner. He couldn't find Kristin till almost midnight.
Speaker 1: She looked at me, voice barely above a whisper. Her
Speaker 1: gaze seemed to urge me to ask something bigger, but
Speaker 1: I only nod, wishing I had an excuse to laugh
Speaker 1: it away. The next contractor invoice arrived, three grand for
Speaker 1: week end emergency labor. When I called the contractor to clarify,
Speaker 1: my voice steady pen poised. He replied, Oh, that must
Speaker 1: be a miscoad. We haven't logged overtime most week ends.
Speaker 1: It's just Jeff and your friend moving things around. We
Speaker 1: close at five. My hand trembled as I scribbled this down,
Speaker 1: thanking him, every nerve in my body humming with alarm.
Speaker 1: It was as if the universe was beginning to conspire
Speaker 1: for exposure. Each attempt to make sense of things spawned
Speaker 1: more chaos, more wounds. At evening, sorting receipts, I noticed
Speaker 1: another pattern. Each Saturday lately a restaurant, a hardware store,
Speaker 1: and tucked between small cash withdrawals. I asked Jeff, why
Speaker 1: so many stops are we paying in cash for something?
Speaker 1: He seemed genuinely annoyed. I'm picking up stuff for Kristen.
Speaker 1: Sometimes she always forgets her wallet, and Mark hates her
Speaker 1: using their card. Excuse felt less like an explanation and
Speaker 1: more like a wall. I let it pass, carving another
Speaker 1: notch in the tally of doubts. My sketch book was
Speaker 1: filling clues, timelines, notes, little side drawings of a kitchen
Speaker 1: I once wanted. Every new page felt like a farewell letter,
Speaker 1: each line spelling out a story I no longer recognized.
Speaker 1: One night, close to midnight, a struggle with insomnia sent
Speaker 1: me to fetch some camramel tea. As I passed the
Speaker 1: back door, I heard voices murmuring from the alley. I paused,
Speaker 1: heart racing through the frosted glass, I could make out
Speaker 1: two silhouettes, Jeff and Kristen, standing close, faces inches apart.
Speaker 1: I stood frozen, desperate to hear, but only caught fragments.
Speaker 1: Kristin's voice urgent, Jeff's low and pleading, then laughter, quickly hushed.
Speaker 1: I backed away, barely daring to breathe. The next morning,
Speaker 1: I confronted Jeff, did you talk to Kristin last night?
Speaker 1: I heard voices outside? He blinked, then recovered, just walked
Speaker 1: her out. We were talking about the contractor's delays. He
Speaker 1: quirked a smile. Didn't want to wake you. I nodded,
Speaker 1: locking away. The memory of their shapes, leaning in too
Speaker 1: close for neighborly relief. Days blurred together, a parade of
Speaker 1: miner betrayals, staged in sunlit kitchens and debris littered porches.
Speaker 1: Mark's trust cracked as well. He knocked on our door
Speaker 1: one evening, out of breath, stammering, is Kristin here? She
Speaker 1: said she was with you too, at the hardware store
Speaker 1: she was Jeff jumped to fill the silence, an easy
Speaker 1: lie tripping from his tongue. She ran ahead, Maybe she
Speaker 1: stopped for groceries. Mark nodded, forced a laugh, but I
Speaker 1: saw the fear settling into his eyes. I wanted to
Speaker 1: say more, but how without detonating my own life? I
Speaker 1: started to avoid Jeff's eyes. The final strangest thing was
Speaker 1: the blue envelope I found tucked in Jeff's backpack while
Speaker 1: searching for my missing sketch pens. It was an rs
Speaker 1: VP card addressed not to us, but to Kristen, her
Speaker 1: maiden name scrawled inside at the bottom Jeff's right, bring
Speaker 1: your plus one our secret. My hands shook the rooms,
Speaker 1: swimming for a moment before I put the card back.
Speaker 1: That night, Jeff suggested a week end trip, just us,
Speaker 1: no phones, no friends, just a break. I considered it.
Speaker 1: Part of me wanted to accept, to force reality into obedience,
Speaker 1: to play at happiness, but another louder voice said the
Speaker 1: time for pretending was over. I nodded, agreeing to nothing.
Speaker 1: The blueprints of our shared future scattered in my mind,
Speaker 1: waiting for the light that would make things finally, unmistakably clear.
Speaker 1: Jeff came home just after ten, late, but not so
Speaker 1: late it would seem purposeful. He dropped his keys in
Speaker 1: the bowl with a clatter, reins spattering off his coat.
Speaker 1: He looked surprised to see me up sitting at the
Speaker 1: bottom of the stairs, the folder of evidence resting in
Speaker 1: my lap. That seemed to unnerve him more than anything
Speaker 1: that had come before. He asked, you waiting up for me,
Speaker 1: like it was a joke, but his voice strained threadbare.
Speaker 1: I couldn't answer, not yet, so I stood and walked
Speaker 1: past him into the kitchen. The blueprints were everywhere, in
Speaker 1: stacks and curls, spilling onto the floor, among crumbs and
Speaker 1: torn mail. I watched him peel off his coat and
Speaker 1: hesitate at the threshold, as if the shape of me
Speaker 1: in the half light was a puzzle he wished he
Speaker 1: could shell for later. Without speaking, I turned away and
Speaker 1: left him standing there. I climbed the stairs to our bedroom,
Speaker 1: but didn't bother undressing. I lay on top of the covers,
Speaker 1: folder pressed against my chest like a life preserver, and
Speaker 1: stared at the ceiling. Jeff never came up. I heard
Speaker 1: the quiet shuffle of him in the kitchen, the creak
Speaker 1: of a chair, the click of his phones wake screen
Speaker 1: once he thumped through the hall an armful of papers,
Speaker 1: and then silence again. He never came to bed. In
Speaker 1: the pale morning, I moved automatically, shower, loose bun, coffee
Speaker 1: made thick and bitter. Jeff was still asleep, slumped on
Speaker 1: the couch, hair mashed, the shape of tension stitched into
Speaker 1: his jaw, even in sleep. I hated him in that moment,
Speaker 1: hated his peace or whatever passed for it, hated that
Speaker 1: his secrets cost him less than the questions cost me.
Speaker 1: I left a mug beside him without a word, went
Speaker 1: outside and stared at our soggy, half finished yard. By noon,
Speaker 1: the dread was a physical ache in my bones. My
Speaker 1: phone pinged Erika, just a red to last night's frantic text.
Speaker 1: I replied, hold tight. I didn't want comfort yet, not
Speaker 1: until I knew if pain or relief was waiting on
Speaker 1: the other side of this. It got worse fast. Kristen
Speaker 1: showed up while I was in the middle of tallying receipts.
Speaker 1: Just waltzed in, as if her presence had never carried
Speaker 1: a charge. She had to go tray of quassas hair
Speaker 1: in a shaky ponatill a shield of good neighborliness. She
Speaker 1: thrust the tray at me, unfazed by my blank stare
Speaker 1: long night, she joked, eyes darting to the folder in
Speaker 1: my hand, Mark said I left my phone charger here.
Speaker 1: You didn't see it, did you? No mention of Jeff,
Speaker 1: or yesterday or any of it. I haven't checked, I replied,
Speaker 1: you can look, but maybe check the den. She paused,
Speaker 1: scoping the kitchen, seeing the blueprints, the folders, the wall
Speaker 1: of silent accusation that I couldn't help exuding. Her eyes
Speaker 1: stilled on the receipt stack narrowed just a fraction, then
Speaker 1: widened into cheerful neutrality. Big weekend plans feigned casual, but
Speaker 1: her fingers trembled. Jeff emerged mid search, hair sticking up
Speaker 1: his crumpled T shirt, exuding guilt. The three of us
Speaker 1: froze in a triangle of tension, old friends now acting strangers.
Speaker 1: Caught together after curfew, Kristin dipped out fast, empty handed
Speaker 1: but falsely bright, text me if you find it. When
Speaker 1: she was gone, Jeff crossed his arms, stared at the floor.
Speaker 1: She ah left in a hurry. He tried a gentle smile,
Speaker 1: but his mouth barely moved. I gathered the evidence, then
Speaker 1: moved to corner him, but hesitated. Not yet. I thought
Speaker 1: it had to be right. The timing sharp enough to cut.
Speaker 1: The day staggered forward. At two p m. Mark knocked
Speaker 1: on our back door. He looked tired. All his cheerful
Speaker 1: edges sanded down. Have you seen Kristin? His voice had
Speaker 1: that quaver of someone trying not to seem needy. She
Speaker 1: was just here, I said. I watched his face as
Speaker 1: he digested that, a flicker of disappointment, a glance inside,
Speaker 1: as if expecting her to appear behind me. Wait, he said,
Speaker 1: She said she had a long work call at her office.
Speaker 1: I guess she just walked over hereafter guess, so, I replied,
Speaker 1: letting the silence drag out, hoping he would say something, anything,
Speaker 1: to name what we both sensed spiraling beyond our control. Instead,
Speaker 1: he exhaled, thanked me left. As the hours stretched, my
Speaker 1: mind spun with watiffs and why not. I made a
Speaker 1: useless list, call a lawyer, call my parents, storm to
Speaker 1: Criston's door, shout at Jeff until something broke Instead dead,
Speaker 1: I did the one thing left within reach. I printed
Speaker 1: more of the digital receipts, hotel bars, duplicate snacks, side
Speaker 1: by side, payments underlined with highlighter and sick insistence. The
Speaker 1: folder had Wait now the whole story balanced there teetering. Later,
Speaker 1: Erica texted again, this time drinks need to vent about
Speaker 1: Colin's fantasy football disaster normal. I almost replied, yes, but
Speaker 1: couldn't imagine moving through small talk. Couldn't stomach any one's
Speaker 1: laughter in my ears Right now, After dinner, Jeff's half
Speaker 1: hearted attempt at chicken and rice, I finally decided I
Speaker 1: would confront him, and I would do it with every
Speaker 1: piece of evidence, every scrap that might prevent him from
Speaker 1: wriggling through another glib evasion. My hands trembled as I
Speaker 1: loaded the folder, a sick sort of adrenaline. I caught
Speaker 1: my own eyes in the hallway mirror, pale, jaw set
Speaker 1: older than I remembered. This was going to be the
Speaker 1: last time I'd look at him as my husband. It
Speaker 1: was as much certainty as I could allow. I found
Speaker 1: him in the kitchen, hunched over blueprints, frowning at notes
Speaker 1: he probably didn't see any more. The room was gray
Speaker 1: and unfinished, the cabinets half installed, the forcet still loose
Speaker 1: on its base. Our dream kitchen, the one we'd planned
Speaker 1: for years, ruined by secrets I hadn't even asked for.
Speaker 1: I slid the folder onto the island, directly in his path.
Speaker 1: We need to talk, I said, voice so calm, it
Speaker 1: startled me. Jeff looked up, brow pinching. What's this? I
Speaker 1: need you to look at it. He hesitated, then flipped
Speaker 1: through the pages, receipts, e mails, texts, time lines. I
Speaker 1: watched his face, saw the progression, confusion, annoyance, anxiety, then
Speaker 1: the blooming red heat of being caught. Lauren, what is this?
Speaker 1: His voice tight, torn between defiance and fear. You know
Speaker 1: what it is, I said. My hands didn't shake. Now,
Speaker 1: don't lie. I've tracked everything for months, he tried to deflect.
Speaker 1: We are over budget. I know I should have looped
Speaker 1: you in on the costs, but Christin and I not
Speaker 1: the money. Jeff. I cut him off. The lies, the
Speaker 1: hotel bar, the hidden meetings, the notes in the project app.
Speaker 1: My voice was deadly, calm. You think I don't know
Speaker 1: what's happening. You think I can't do basic math. His
Speaker 1: expression flickered between angry and wounded. Then, for a moment,
Speaker 1: relief flickered in his eyes, as if being found out.
Speaker 1: Let him drop the mask, he tried gently. At first,
Speaker 1: I know it looks bad. I'm sorry. The long hours
Speaker 1: with Kristin it got confusing, lines blurred, but nothing. No,
Speaker 1: don't lie again. I stabbed a manicured finger at the
Speaker 1: hotel receipts, You too, weren't working on drawer pulls at
Speaker 1: midnight in the hotel bar. You weren't talking about back splash.
Speaker 1: The night you sent our little secret to Kristin, my
Speaker 1: words tumbled out, sharp and slicing. Won't insult me by
Speaker 1: pretending you just needed her for grout specifications. He laughed,
Speaker 1: Then a desperate, miserable sound rubbed his eyes hard. For
Speaker 1: a wild second, I thought he might collapse. Okay, he whispered,
Speaker 1: Maybe I lost track of boundaries. Kristin she filled a gap.
Speaker 1: You've been so consumed by work, shut up with your
Speaker 1: own projects. I didn't didn't realize how far i'd drifted.
Speaker 1: I stared at the spot above his jaw, the muscle
Speaker 1: jumping there. You're blaming me, that's not he faltered voice, thick.
Speaker 1: I should have been honest. But it wasn't supposed to
Speaker 1: happen with Kristin. It was just at first we liked
Speaker 1: the same shows. She made me feel seen, and then shit.
Speaker 1: One night, after the contractor calls, we got drinks and
Speaker 1: then his voice broke. I wanted to tell you, but
Speaker 1: I thought if I just kept going the project would
Speaker 1: end and things would go back to normal. But I
Speaker 1: needed that escape. I messed everything up. There was defeat
Speaker 1: in the slump of his shoulders, a kind of empty,
Speaker 1: selfish grief. I let the silence chew at us. Was
Speaker 1: it only in the last few weeks? He shook his
Speaker 1: head once, barely longer months? Maybe it wasn't. It started
Speaker 1: with inside jokes and late night talks. Then just happened.
Speaker 1: We didn't plan it, Lauren, but you let it keep happening.
Speaker 1: I said, my whole body ringing with exhaustion and rage.
Speaker 1: You moved the walls of our house so you could
Speaker 1: have her in the cracks? Did Mark know? Jeff squeezed
Speaker 1: his eyes shut. Number. Kristen said she'd handle telling Mark
Speaker 1: some day. She never wanted to hurt you. Don't I
Speaker 1: snapped more venom in that word than I'd known I possessed.
Speaker 1: Don't you dare? She was in my kitchen, my home.
Speaker 1: Footsteps sounded at the door. Instinctively, I looked up. There
Speaker 1: was Kristin, hair plastered from rain, frozen in the threshold.
Speaker 1: She'd heard us. She looked like she'd aged years in minutes.
Speaker 1: Mascarre st taking cheeks, hands clasped in front of her,
Speaker 1: as if she could make herself smaller, invisible. She stepped in,
Speaker 1: voice shaking. I am sorry, Lauren. I wanted to say something.
Speaker 1: I kept thinking next week after the project, after things
Speaker 1: calmed down. Her words crumpled, desperate. It was never supposed
Speaker 1: to get out of hand like this. For a split second,
Speaker 1: the kitchen seemed smaller, the walls pressing in. Jeff slumped
Speaker 1: head in his hands, Kristin wringing her sleeve, searching for
Speaker 1: something in my face that could grant forgiveness. I don't
Speaker 1: care how it was supposed to go, I said, icily,
Speaker 1: I care what you chose, both of you. Mark deserves
Speaker 1: to know, and I won't be the one carrying this
Speaker 1: any more. Kristin's knees buckled a little. Please just give
Speaker 1: me to night. Let me tell Mark myself. I never
Speaker 1: wanted to be this person. I almost felt sorry for her,
Speaker 1: but then I remembered the laughter, the little secrets, the
Speaker 1: notes traded inches from my window. I steeled myself. You
Speaker 1: need to go, She nodded, broken and left, sniffing hard.
Speaker 1: The house felt vacated, like a dropped shell. The old
Speaker 1: energy sucked away. Jeff moved toward me, arms out, as
Speaker 1: if he thought he could make things better by pulling
Speaker 1: me in. Please, Lauren, I'll do anything. Please don't leave me.
Speaker 1: Don't let this be how it ends. I stepped back.
Speaker 1: It ended before I got to choose. You just waited
Speaker 1: until I couldn't ignore it. The fight was done, not
Speaker 1: with drama, not with slamming doors, just the yawning fact
Speaker 1: between us that nothing could be stitched back. I left
Speaker 1: him standing in the ruined kitchen, the blueprints fluttering to
Speaker 1: the floor as a draft rolled in with the rain upstairs.
Speaker 1: I filled my duffel with the bare minimum, a few clothes,
Speaker 1: my laptop, that sketch book full of ruins and evidence.
Speaker 1: I moved carefully, methodically, letting the numbness be my armor.
Speaker 1: Called Erica, voice flat. I'm coming over, she answered in
Speaker 1: a heartbeat, No questions, just how soon. Downstairs, the house
Speaker 1: was silent except for Jeff's muffled apology, words too soft
Speaker 1: for me to hear and too late to matter. He
Speaker 1: stayed hunched at the island, fists pressed to his eyes.
Speaker 1: Kristen was gone, no sign of her, just echoes. I
Speaker 1: paused in the doorway, hand tightening on the handle of
Speaker 1: my duffel and saw Mark silhouette moving next door, pausing
Speaker 1: outside his own front door. Uncertain. I closed the door
Speaker 1: softly behind me, walked down the porch steps, the rain
Speaker 1: a drum on my shoulders, the street empty but for
Speaker 1: the harsh, living sound of water on sidewalk. I didn't
Speaker 1: look back. The taste of loss sat thick in my
Speaker 1: throat as I drove the wet streets toward Erica's place,
Speaker 1: the windshield wipers fighting their losing battle, my phone silent
Speaker 1: in my lap. I made it to Erica's without incident.
Speaker 1: She opened the door before I even knocked, pulling me
Speaker 1: into a quick, fierce hug. I got you, she murmured.
Speaker 1: We didn't talk. She just led me to the guest room,
Speaker 1: placed towels at the foot of the bed, and left
Speaker 1: me in peace. I dropped my bag by the window,
Speaker 1: shed my shoes, and collapsed on to the edge of
Speaker 1: the bed, jaw clenched and heart racing. There was nothing
Speaker 1: left in me for tears. In the quiet, humming dark,
Speaker 1: I opened my phone not to read new messages, but
Speaker 1: to scroll through old photos, those careless snap shots of
Speaker 1: our first apartment of Jeff beaming in the surf of
Speaker 1: nights under string lights in the back yard. My thumb hovered,
Speaker 1: then I locked the screen, face burning, flooded with humiliation,
Speaker 1: with a kind of animal grief. I checked my e mail,
Speaker 1: blocking Jeff's number, fording Bank's statements to a new folder
Speaker 1: marked separation. I wrote a quick note to my parents,
Speaker 1: Jeff and I are separating. I'm safe. I'll call soon.
Speaker 1: I didn't elaborate, no story, no context, just the fact.
Speaker 1: As midnight neared, I lay in the dark, staring at
Speaker 1: the old glow in the dark stars Erica had stuck
Speaker 1: to her sealing years ago. Outside rain battered the window.
Speaker 1: Somewhere across town, my half built kitchens sagged under the
Speaker 1: weight of secrets and lost years. But I was not
Speaker 1: in that house any more. I woke up early, barely rested,
Speaker 1: and stared around the unfamiliar, safe plain guest room. I
Speaker 1: texted Mark two sentences, talk to Christen. She's been lying
Speaker 1: to both of us. No signature, no apology, just the truth.
Speaker 1: I set my phone, faced on, bracing for whatever came next.
Speaker 1: Let the pieces fall. I moved through Erica's apartment on autopilot.
Speaker 1: She brewed strong coffee and left it for me on
Speaker 1: the table, hovering without crowding. My world had shrunk to
Speaker 1: a handful of practical steps called the bank, cancel, renovation contracts,
Speaker 1: reroot mail the first anchor. I logged into our joint
Speaker 1: account and transferred half the remaining savings to a new
Speaker 1: checking number. No ceremony, no last glance back, just the end,
Speaker 1: tabulated in black and white. My phone buzzed ceaselessly, Jeff trying, begging, apologizing.
Speaker 1: Every message blocked Before I could see more than a preview.
Speaker 1: I sent my lawyer friend an email. What paperwork do
Speaker 1: I need to start a separation? I copied and pasted
Speaker 1: the template from a website, my hands steady. At noon,
Speaker 1: Erica drove me back to the house. I refused her
Speaker 1: offer to wait. I wanted to go in alone, to
Speaker 1: face the mess on my own terms. I found Jeff
Speaker 1: in the kitchen again. He looked like he hadn't slept,
Speaker 1: eyes ringed, beard patchy and uneven. He didn't move from
Speaker 1: his chair. I'm coming for more things in a few days,
Speaker 1: I said, already moving through the house. I'll text before
Speaker 1: I do. He just nodded. Hollow the tay wrapped boxes
Speaker 1: scattered at his feet looked like grave. After gathering my
Speaker 1: design portfolios, a few books, and several framed photos of
Speaker 1: my own family, I looked once at the ruined kitchen,
Speaker 1: half a dream, half a grave. Jeff watched me, lips
Speaker 1: trembling with things unsaid. I hope it was worth it,
Speaker 1: I said softly. The words left no ricochet. He just
Speaker 1: buried his head in his hands. As I walked out
Speaker 1: for good. That night at Erika's, I pulled out my
Speaker 1: sketch book, not the Ledger of Betrayals, but a fresh,
Speaker 1: blank one I'd bought weeks ago. I opened to the
Speaker 1: first page, let myself look out the window at the
Speaker 1: orange cast of street lamps, and began to sketch a
Speaker 1: new outline, not of the old kitchen, not of the
Speaker 1: old life, but of something not yet built. The lines
Speaker 1: came shaky, dotted, but they were mine. I sat back,
Speaker 1: breathing slow, watching the lamp light chase the dark out
Speaker 1: of the corners. For the first time in a long while,
Speaker 1: I felt present, not whole, not healed, but unhidden, And
Speaker 1: in that moment I understood I would rebuild blueprint by
Speaker 1: blueprint on my own terms. Before the daylight faded. Kristin's
Speaker 1: name appeared on my phone again, a halting text, can
Speaker 1: we talk, please? Foreclosure. I stared at it, thumb hovering
Speaker 1: over a reply. Part of me wanted to erase every trace,
Speaker 1: but there was something desperate behind her words, a scraping
Speaker 1: hunger for forgiveness, or maybe just for permission to keep
Speaker 1: looking away from what she'd done. I let her wait
Speaker 1: before finally responding, not now, tell Mark, I'm done. A
Speaker 1: minute later, Erica poked her head in holding up her
Speaker 1: own phone. Mark just called Kristen's home. They're fighting loud.
Speaker 1: I just nodded a stone in my chest where friendship
Speaker 1: used to be. I'd wanted peace or a sense of righteousness,
Speaker 1: but what I felt was a raw coldness, an honesty
Speaker 1: sharper than anything i'd known. Whatever happened next between them
Speaker 1: wasn't mine to own. By early evening, word had already
Speaker 1: rippled through the edges of our friend group. Erica's phone
Speaker 1: vibrated every few minutes, Colin checking if we needed dinner,
Speaker 1: Simon asking if I wanted to talk. Mark that one brief,
Speaker 1: stunned message, thank you for telling me I deserved to know.
Speaker 1: My hands shook as I typed back, I'm sorry. None
Speaker 1: of this should have happened. Simple final. There were moments
Speaker 1: when I thought I'd implode from the alarm in my
Speaker 1: own skin, a nearly physical urge to run, to scream,
Speaker 1: to curl up under blankets and pretend I was twelve again,
Speaker 1: and home just meant walls and not breakage and blueprints.
Speaker 1: I let it all pass through me, carried on the
Speaker 1: sound of traffic outside Erica's window and the low hiccuping
Speaker 1: sob I heard from the shower hours later that I
Speaker 1: realized belonged to me. That night, as I sat at
Speaker 1: Erica's kitchen, table phone silent now, the ritual of loss unfolded,
Speaker 1: my inbox filled with admin, the bank processing the separation,
Speaker 1: the renovation company confirming cancelation, my lawyer friend agreeing to
Speaker 1: meet Monday morning about next. I realized how easily a
Speaker 1: shared life could be pried apart, broken down into passwords, paperwork,
Speaker 1: automatic payments rerouted. It made the years feel thin, tissue
Speaker 1: layers you could slide free of with sharp enough fingers.
Speaker 1: Somewhere near midnight, the impact landed. I was not just
Speaker 1: untethering from Jeff, but from Christen, their warmth and jokes
Speaker 1: and imprompt you happy hours in our battered, friend webbed kitchen.
Speaker 1: The grief was bigger than him. It was the loss
Speaker 1: of a whole world. The mail box at our house
Speaker 1: started to fill catalogs for kitchen fixtures, promotional emails about
Speaker 1: countertop sales, postcards from suppliers that only weeks ago would
Speaker 1: have set off a flurry of excited debate. Knowing all
Speaker 1: those dreams were now stalled, junk I felt an almost
Speaker 1: physical ache in my arms. There would be no final
Speaker 1: cabinet reveal, no softly lit dinner to celebrate a project
Speaker 1: finally finished. Through the week, as the legal steps clicked forward,
Speaker 1: small consequences started to echo out. Jeff's messages shifted from
Speaker 1: pleading to wounded anger. How could I just walk away?
Speaker 1: Wasn't the love real? Couldn't we try therapy? Each one?
Speaker 1: I deleted, the sentences growing brittle, as if they too
Speaker 1: knew time was running out. Kristen was quieter, only the
Speaker 1: single text, but words slipped through Erica. She confessed to Mark,
Speaker 1: who'd left that night for his brother's place. She called
Speaker 1: in sick to her job, citing family emergency, and kept
Speaker 1: her porch lights off even during the day. All the
Speaker 1: neighborly rhythms I'd learned to love midday waves at the
Speaker 1: mail box, wineglasses clinked through the fence, vanished in one wide,
Speaker 1: wounding cut. A letter from my parents arrived a few
Speaker 1: days later, stiff and cautiously supportive, tentative in their call
Speaker 1: us when You're ready. I waited a day before calling
Speaker 1: them from Erica's kitchen, sons slanting across my face, the
Speaker 1: sound of my mother's uncertainty clear even as she tried
Speaker 1: to make room for my anger. Don't stay out of pride,
Speaker 1: she warned, I promised quietly. That wasn't what kept me away.
Speaker 1: I just didn't want to be talked down from the
Speaker 1: choice I saw as survival, not drama. What I didn't
Speaker 1: expect was how many small practical splits followed. Deadlines, reminders,
Speaker 1: arrangements with the contractors for what scraps to salvage for
Speaker 1: reesel figuring out who got the plates, the towels, the tools.
Speaker 1: The house still half ruined, was to be listed for sale,
Speaker 1: The prophets divided. Once the dust settled, Erica insisted I
Speaker 1: stay as long as I wanted. She was gentle about it.
Speaker 1: No probing questions, no forced camaraderie, just warmth and that
Speaker 1: subtle strength you only notice in friends who truly know
Speaker 1: how to wait beside you in the dark. On the
Speaker 1: third morning at her place, I bundled up and walked
Speaker 1: past our old block. I lingered on the sidewalk, watching
Speaker 1: dusk descend over the tangled trash bins, porch lights flickering
Speaker 1: to life one by one. The house looked more wounded
Speaker 1: now than ever, the yard pitted and muddy, blinds shut tight,
Speaker 1: the kitchen window glowing pale and dull. Jeff's car was gone,
Speaker 1: Christen's too, the evidence of departure already scrawled across the curb.
Speaker 1: Mark came out, head down, barely seeing me. He gave
Speaker 1: a little wave, the kind that needed no words. Two
Speaker 1: people mourning but not together. Back at Erica's, the emails continued,
Speaker 1: the listing agent, the lawyer, the contractor sending his regrets.
Speaker 1: Friends kept their distance. Invitations still came, but always with
Speaker 1: a sense of uncertainty, as if the ground beneath our
Speaker 1: group had fractured in some permanent way. On my fifth
Speaker 1: night there after one curt phone call with the lawyer,
Speaker 1: I made myself pause I realized I hadn't eaten all day,
Speaker 1: hadn't showered, hadn't done anything, but moved from one necessary
Speaker 1: action to the next. Numbed by adrenaline and dread, I
Speaker 1: found myself longing for ordinary pain, something I could wrap
Speaker 1: a finger around, nurse and be done with. At three
Speaker 1: a m. Wide awake, I wandered into Erica's living room,
Speaker 1: sat in the dark, letting the hush settle over me.
Speaker 1: I realized then that this was the slow unwinding, not
Speaker 1: just of a marriage but of a story I'd crafted
Speaker 1: around myself and Jeff. The blueprints of our life, sketched
Speaker 1: again and again in hope and persistence, could not be
Speaker 1: repurposed this time. Mark texted me the next afternoon, thank
Speaker 1: you for being straight. Some day, maybe we'll talk more.
Speaker 1: I replied, some day that felt honest. There was nothing
Speaker 1: else to give him now. By the end of the week,
Speaker 1: the split had gone public, neighbour's gossiping, a final text
Speaker 1: from Christen, an apology so short it read like an epitaph.
Speaker 1: The hurt no longer bled fresh every morning, it simply sat,
Speaker 1: a quiet bruise, slow to fade. On Sunday, I packed
Speaker 1: my Duffel thanked Erica and headed back to the house
Speaker 1: with a single purpose to collect the handful of things
Speaker 1: that were truly mine. The sketch book, the old scarf
Speaker 1: from my first date with Jeff, a chipped mug from
Speaker 1: our wedding. The house itself felt smaller, every echo thick
Speaker 1: with endings. Jeff wasn't home. I left my keys on
Speaker 1: the kitchen counter, one blueprint folded on top, a map
Speaker 1: of cabinets never installed, initials scribbled in two different hands.
Speaker 1: At the doorway, I took a last look around, bare studs,
Speaker 1: dusty light, the air stale with the mingled scents of
Speaker 1: sawdust and disappointment. I exhaled, set my Duffel firmly over
Speaker 1: my shoulder, and stepped into the misty air outside. The
Speaker 1: walk to my car was quiet. I didn't linger or
Speaker 1: look back, not even when the porch light flared to
Speaker 1: life behind me one final time. Driving to a temporary rental,
Speaker 1: I kept my eyes forward, foae faced and letting my
Speaker 1: mind begin to unfurl past the facts of betrayal. There
Speaker 1: was still sorrow, but beneath it a slim current of possibility,
Speaker 1: the knowledge I could begin again with my own hands.
Speaker 1: Later that evening, unpacking in a new space, I set
Speaker 1: out my sketch book and pencil beside the window. The
Speaker 1: view was empty, no familiar houses, no old friends on
Speaker 1: the walk. I sat, legs folded and let myself draw
Speaker 1: a single simple line across the page, a tentative start,
Speaker 1: but wholly my own. As night draped itself over the city,
Speaker 1: I cracked the window for air and watched lamp light
Speaker 1: shimmer on wet pavement. The future, for now was blank
Speaker 1: and wide, the blueprints, unshared, unspoiled. I breathed in steady
Speaker 1: and placed my palm over that first delicate outline, claiming
Speaker 1: the space as mine.