Chapter 1 — The Errant Text

Claire

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen and the occasional creak of settling wood. Claire sat curled into the corner of the living room couch, a half-empty mug of chamomile tea balanced on the armrest. Outside, the tulips she’d planted last spring swayed gently in the evening breeze, their vibrant petals glowing faintly under the porch light. She had always loved this time of night—the stillness, the way the world seemed to exhale after a long day. It was her time to rest, to reflect, to breathe.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking the spell. She glanced at the screen, expecting a reminder from the kids’ school app or perhaps a casual text from Rachel checking in. Instead, the preview of the message sent a chill rippling through her chest.

"I can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you."

Her breath hitched. For a moment, she thought she must have misread it. Her thumb hovered over the notification, her heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the stillness around her. The sender was unmistakable: Nathan.

Her husband.

Claire’s stomach knotted as she opened the message. The words were there, stark and undeniable, staring back at her as though daring her to respond. She set the phone down as though it had burned her fingers and pressed her palms into her thighs, trying to ground herself. The mug of tea tipped slightly, spilling a thin trail of liquid onto the fabric of the couch. She didn’t notice.

This had to be a mistake. Nathan loved her. They’d been together for fifteen years, built a life, a family. Just last week, he’d helped Ethan with a science project, painstakingly constructing a paper-mâché volcano while Isabel giggled at their mess. He was a man of ambition and charm, yes, but also a man of routine. The kind of man who kissed their children on the forehead each morning before work, who insisted on family dinners even when his schedule was packed. He wasn’t the kind of man who would—

“I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

The words echoed in her head, louder now, piercing through her rationalizations like slivers of glass. She reached for the phone again, her fingers trembling. The message was gone. Deleted.

Her breath caught, and a faint tremor began in her hands. Her first instinct was to march upstairs to their bedroom, where Nathan was undoubtedly scrolling through his emails or watching some news program, and demand an explanation. But something stopped her. She didn’t know if it was fear, disbelief, or the quiet voice in her head whispering, Wait. Watch. Learn.

Claire sank back into the couch, her chest tightening as a thousand conflicting thoughts jostled for space in her mind. Who was he texting? How could he be so careless as to send it to her by accident? Or maybe—maybe it wasn’t what it seemed. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. But the knot in her stomach told her otherwise.

She thought of their life together. The house they’d bought as newlyweds, its red brick facade a picture-perfect symbol of their shared dreams. The tulips she’d planted in the front yard every spring, bright bursts of color against the lush green lawn Nathan meticulously mowed each weekend. The way he’d held her hand on their anniversary last month, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile as he toasted to "fifteen more years, at least." All of it seemed to tilt slightly, as though the foundation of their life had shifted without her noticing. Had she missed signs?

There was that time last month when he’d snapped at her for asking about a strange charge on their credit card—something about a client gift. She’d brushed it off, not wanting to seem suspicious. Now, the memory felt like a jagged edge she couldn’t smooth over. And tonight, when he’d come home late again, his explanation had been the same as always: a client meeting that ran over. He’d kissed her on the cheek as he walked through the door, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with something sweeter—something citrusy, like a woman’s perfume. She’d dismissed it at the time. But now…

Her phone buzzed again, jolting her out of her thoughts. This time, it was a text from Rachel.

"Wine night tomorrow? I’ll bring the good stuff."

Claire stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard to type a reply. She thought of telling Rachel everything, spilling the fear and uncertainty knotting inside her. But what would she even say? That one text had unraveled the fabric of her world? That she wasn’t ready to face what it might mean? Instead, she locked the phone and rested it on her lap, her fists curling at her sides.

The dishwasher beeped in the background, signaling the end of its cycle. The sound felt jarring, out of place, like the world was continuing on as normal while hers threatened to shatter. Claire stood and carried her mug to the kitchen, placing it in the sink with a clatter. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white, as she stared at the tulips through the window. Their petals, once a source of joy, now looked fragile, their beauty fleeting.

Her gaze shifted to the shelf above the sink, where her restoration kit sat neatly in its worn leather case. The sight of it steadied her, if only slightly. She thought of the patience it required to restore a damaged fresco—how every crack told a story, every layer of grime had to be carefully removed to reveal the truth beneath. Maybe that’s what she needed to do now. Patience. Precision. Careful observation.

If this was what it seemed—if Nathan was having an affair—how long had it been going on? And why? She thought of Isabel and Ethan, their laughter echoing in the house earlier that evening as they’d played an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. How could Nathan jeopardize the life they’d built, the family they’d created?

Her fingers tightened on the counter. No, she wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. She needed answers, and she needed to be sure before she confronted him. But how? Her thoughts flitted to the nights he’d worked late, the client dinners, the business trips. She’d never questioned him before, never doubted him. But now, every memory felt tainted, every word he’d said suspect. Her reflection caught faintly in the window, her chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a loose bun, her hazel eyes flecked with green shadowed with doubt. She barely recognized the woman staring back.

Claire turned off the kitchen light and padded upstairs, her bare feet silent against the carpeted steps. The door to their bedroom was ajar, soft light spilling into the hallway. She paused outside, her hand brushing against the doorframe as she peered inside.

Nathan was propped up against the headboard, his laptop balanced on his knees. He looked up as she entered, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers with a smile that now felt like a mask. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his tone casual, his voice tinged with concern. His fingers hovered over the trackpad, but his expression was unreadable.

Claire hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. “Yeah,” she said after a beat, her voice tight. “Just tired.” She slipped into the bathroom to avoid his gaze, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, the hazel eyes now shadowed with uncertainty. She reached up to loosen her bun, her hair spilling over her shoulders. For a moment, she wondered if she’d been wrong, if she’d imagined the tension in her husband’s smile, the guilt in his eyes. But the text… she couldn’t ignore the text.

Claire turned on the tap and splashed cool water on her face, letting it drip down her neck as she steadied her breathing. Her chest still felt tight, her pulse still erratic, but she forced herself to focus. She needed a plan. She couldn’t confront him without proof, without knowing the full extent of what she was up against. She would wait. She would watch. And she would learn.

As she slipped into bed beside Nathan, her back turned toward him, Claire felt the weight of the evening settle over her like a heavy blanket. She would find the truth, no matter how painful it might be. And when she did, she would decide what came next.

For now, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing, steady and even, as though nothing at all had changed. But for Claire, everything had.