Jamie squeezes my shoulder. "I know. But we have to be patient."
I hate being patient. I've been patient for months. I've been patient while Asher pulled away, while Devon moved in, while my marriage crumbled around me. I'm done being patient. But I don't have a choice. So we wait.
The next day is worse. I wake up to gray skies and drizzle—typical Seattle weather. Jamie makes pancakes. Ryan brews more coffee. We sit around the dining table and eat breakfast like we're a normal family, like this is a normal weekend. But it's not normal. Nothing about this is. The burner phone sits in the middle of the table, silent.
"Maybe we should go out," Jamie suggests. "Get some air. We've been cooped up in here for two days."
"I don't want to miss his call," I say.
"You won't. You'll have the phone with you."
She's right. But the thought of leaving the house, of being out in the world while Marcus is following Asher, feels wrong somehow. Like I need to be here, waiting, ready.
"I'll stay," I say. "You guys can go if you want."
"We're not leaving you alone," Ryan says immediately.
So we stay. We watch more movies. We play more cards. We order pizza because none of us feel like cooking. The day stretches on, endless and suffocating. I check the burner phone every ten minutes even though I know it hasn't rung.
I imagine Marcus out there, following Asher, watching him. I imagine what he might be seeing. Asher at work. Asher getting coffee. Asher doing normal, mundane things. Or maybe not normal things. Maybe things I don't want to imagine. By sundown, I'm ready to climb the walls.
"This is torture," I say, pacing the living room. "Why hasn't he called? What if something went wrong? What if Asher spotted him?"
"He didn't spot him," Ryan says calmly. "Marcus is a professional. He knows what he's doing."
"Then why hasn't he called?"
"Because maybe there's nothing to report yet. Or maybe he's waiting until he has something concrete."
I want to scream. I want to throw the phone across the room. I want to drive to my house and confront Asher myself, demand the truth, make him look me in the eye and tell me what he's been doing.
But I don't. I just keep pacing. And then just after nine thirty, the burner phone rings. I freeze. Jamie and Ryan both look up. For a second, none of us move. Then I lunge for the phone and answer it. "Hello?"
“Julie, it's Marcus." His voice is calm, professional. "I have an update for you."
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear him. "What is it? What did you find?"
"Your husband and his stepsister went on a date tonight. Canlis restaurant."
My stomach clenches. Canlis. The same restaurant where I met Asher's father. That sick fuck.
"Okay," I say, my voice shaking. "And?"
"They were seated in a private dining room. I wasn't able to get inside, but I have exterior shots of them arriving and leaving. And I have photos from the parking lot."
"What kind of photos?"
There's a pause. "I'm sending them to you now. Check your email."
Ryan's already opening his laptop. I give him the email address Marcus set up for me—another layer of security, another way to keep this hidden. The photos load. And my entire world tilts.
The first photo shows Asher and Devon walking into the restaurant. She's wearing a black dress that I don't recognize, and heels that I do recognize because they're mine. My black Louboutins, the ones I wore to our anniversary dinner. She's wearing my shoes. She's also wearing my coat. What the fuck?
The second photo is from the parking lot. They're walking to Asher's car. He has his arm around her waist. She's leaning into him. They look like a couple. They look like they're in love.
And in the third photo, the one that makes my stomach drop, Asher’s helping her into his car, and I can see his left hand clearly. He's not wearing his wedding ring.
"Julie?" Jamie's voice sounds far away. "Julie, are you okay?"
