Matt had gone completely still.
"I…" he started, then stopped. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
I leaned against the counter and took a sip of the water I didn't want.
"Take your time," I said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
CHAPTER 5: ELENA
Matt lowered the phone and his thumb hit the red button, cutting Angela off mid-sentence. The silence that followed pressed in from every direction, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the uneven hitch of his breathing.
"That was rude," I said. "She seemed upset."
His eyes flicked to mine, hunting for anger or hysteria or any of the emotions he’d probably prepared himself for if this moment ever arrived. I let the silence stretch between us and offered him nothing.
"Babe, I…" He set the phone down on the counter like it had burned him. "This isn't… it's not what it looks like."
I looked at the laptop. The video kept rolling, Matt easing Angela back against the exam table, his hand slipping under her shirt like it was muscle memory. Then I looked at him again.
“Which part?” I asked, sounding almost conversational. “This part?” I let the footage roll until his mouth found her neck. “Or this part?” A tap moved it forward to where her legs tightened around his waist.
"Stop." His voice cracked. "Please, just… stop."
I paused the video, laced my fingers together on the counter, and waited for him to say something. Anything.
"It was a mistake," he said. The words came out fast, tumbling over each other. "A huge mistake. I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking, it just… it happened and I?—"
"How many times?"
He hesitated. "What?"
"How many times did it happen?" I kept my voice steady and clinical. The same tone I used when taking a patient history. "I saw two instances at the clinic. Were there others?"
His jaw worked once, like he was searching for a word that wouldn’t come.
I watched him calculate, the gears turning behind his eyes. Angela had called him six times, frantic enough to give herself away, which meant he knew I knew and that she might have already told me everything. He was running the numbers now, trying to figure out exactly how much I had and how much he could still afford to hide.
The smart play—the safe play—was to tell the truth.
"Three times," he said finally. "Once in her car. Then... then the two at the clinic."
I nodded, like he'd just confirmed a diagnosis I'd already suspected.
"Three times," I repeated, letting the number sit between us. "And the texting? How long has that been going on?"
He flinched, just barely, like the question had hit a bruise.
"A few months," he said. "Maybe... maybe three? She texted me in April because she couldn't reach you about some supply order. It was just… it was nothing at first. Just normal stuff. Then she started texting more. About Bryan, and how he was on her case about the drinking… She felt like he didn’t understand her, how overwhelmed she was with everything."
"And you felt sorry for her."
"Yeah." He looked almost relieved that I'd said it first. "Yeah, I did. She was going through a rough time, and I just… I guess I was trying to be supportive. Just listening, you know? It didn't mean anything."
"Until it did."
His jaw worked. "Until it did."
I let the silence stretch, then tapped the trackpad. The video lurched back into motion, past the kissing, past the touching, straight into the part that came after. Their bodies pressed together, his hips moving, her head tipped back, the exam table rocking under them. Matt’s eyes flicked to the screen, then away again, too fast to be anything but shame.
