Then she thought about their family situation. He was the sole breadwinner, the only one with a degree, with work experience, withcredit. If she pushed this until she knew the full truth, and if hewerecheating . . . where did that leave her? Where did that leave their girls?
Eliana returned to her side of the bed and sat, staring down at the lock of dark hair lying haphazardly across his peaceful face, the scruff lining his jaw, and the long, jealousy-inducing curve of his eyelashes. He was such a handsome man—he always had been. But he’dalwaysmade her feel special, like she was the only woman he saw. She squinted down at him . . . had she been hypnotized this entire time by the infamous body betrayal syndrome?
No. She shook her head. He was her husband, and she’d trusted him. She’d loved him. And regardless of whether or not he was cheating, hewasblatantly lying to her. She needed the truth, and she needed consequences—but she wasn’t quite ready to go another round of verbal sparring. She needed validation, but more importantly, she needed proof. Hard,irrefutableproof.
So, she started watching and observing, quiet andinconspicuous. Taking note—both literally and figuratively. When Jesse’s calls home started coming later in the day, growing shorter and shorter, and when he started adding additional days to the work trips. She noticed the day the password changed on the credit card, and the alerts stopped showing up. The way they naturally drifted apart in the bedroom, now that she wasn’t initiating. The speed at which he’d leave a room after his phone rang ‘for business’ or the delay in his response while he typed away at a text, a secret smile on his face. He still made a conscious effort with their daughters, and though she was grateful for it, it only served to further illustrate how hecouldmake the effort if hewantedto.
She also found herself observing other couples more carefully—like their neighbors, Milo and Bea. She couldn’t help but notice how Milo would dote on Bea. Outside of a full-time job, he maintained an entire bee farm in their backyard solely to help support his wife’s consignment shop in town,Busy Bea—where his honeycomb served as the store’s main attraction.
Bea had never been anything but kind to Eliana. They’d spent countless afternoons chatting on the porch or laughing over recipes. More than once, she’d come through to watch the girls when they found themselves in a pinch, needing a last-minute sitter. And more than anything else, Bealistened. As a businesswoman, she understood Eliana’s desires to contribute and spoke of them like they were actual goals, rather than pointless dreams.
And yet, despite their friendship, Eliana couldn’t help comparing herself to the woman. Wondering what it was about Bea that made her husband so infatuated, while Eliana’s . . . wasn’t. It was no hardship to spot the differences. Bea was slender and beautiful, while Eliana was full-bodiedand plain. They had the same shade of dark brown hair, though Bea’s fell in thick, glossy curls and Eliana’s hung straight and flat. And while Bea was extroverted and sweet to everyone, Eliana was more naturally ambiverted, holding reservations toward strangers and unknown situations.
Eliana had never felt jealousy towards her neighbor before, not in a decade of living beside her, but she could recognize the feelings for what they were. Hating how Bea made it look so effortless, and hating herself for thinking such thoughts.
She’d considered talking to Bea about the situation with Jesse, but Eliana’s embarrassment held her back. It made her physically ill, having such negative emotions towards a woman she cared for as a friend. So, she pushed off their weekly chats and hid away when Bea knocked on the door, thoroughly isolating herself in the spiraling nightmare Eliana was unable to escape.
For weeks, she watched, and with every day, she slipped an inch closer to madness, keeping it all bottled up. There was no concrete evidence—no signwhatsoeverof another woman. Just a steady decline in the attention he afforded her. Subtle little changes that would never flag as suspicious to anyone other than the woman who’d stood at his side for half his life.
She knew he was hiding something, but anytime she asked about some inconsistency in a story or an odd timing discrepancy, an easy excuse was quick off his tongue. Jesse was a businessman, and Eliana suddenly had the distinct impression that she was beingmanaged.
She wanted to talk to somebody, but the person she usually went to with her problems was Jesse. She briefly considered calling her best friend, Clem, but ultimately decided not to. Not yet. Her friend had a tendency to be alittle . . . overzealous, and Eliana wasn’t quite ready to burn the world down.
She had to dosomething,though. So, to help herself process, to grieve, she began writing it down. She changed the names and the settings, and then she put it all down on paper in a great purge of emotion. Exactly how it was. The secrets, the lies, the dialogue were almost verbatim—which was easy because it all played in her mind like a broken record. Day in and day out.
She was no author. She’d wanted to go to school for sonography. But she told the truth, or . . .hertruth as she saw it and felt it. And then she loaded the words into one of her favorite discussion boards, asking what her internet friends thought of a story with that premise. If they thought the husband‘s,Josh’s, actions were suspicious, or if she was simply making her female lead,Emma, sound crazy.
And to both her validation and her horror, the comments came pouring in.
4
LILIES
Obviously cheating.
Please tell me Emma gets a new hero?
It seems a little too obvious. Maybe you should make the lies better.
Fuck his dad for revenge.
I don’t think I would immediately jump to cheating . . . but he’s definitely up to no good.
Why are cheaters so stupid?
The fresh bout of comments Eliana received, just that morning, circled through her mind while she moved a load of laundry to the dryer. Which was why she didn’t hear Zoey saying her name until the shouted “MOM” rang her eardrums.
She glanced up at her daughter, standing only two feet away with her hands on her hips. “Yes?”
“Goodgrief, you’re going deaf inyour old age.”
“I’m only thirty-two.”
“Anyway, I was going to ask if you’d seen my Nike shorts, but I see them now, so never mind.” Zoey wiggled her fingers over her shoulder as she left, purple fabric in hand.
Eliana shook her head as she sorted through the remaining clothes, but the smile melted from her lips the moment she reached a hand into a pocket of Jesse’s work pants and pulled out a receipt. The logo at the top was for the flower shop in the next town over.
Her initial instinct, despite everything that had happened, was to drop the receipt—as if she’d accidentally stumbled across a present she wasn’t supposed to see. Even knowing that Jesse had never once bought her flowers in their marriage, not since the corsage she’d worn to prom.
