Chapter 4 - The Thirty-Day Test
Julian hated the schedule.
That was how I knew it was fair.
Three evenings each week, he came directly from work and took responsibility for the twins until bedtime.
Saturday mornings belonged entirely to him.
Doctors' appointments were shared.
Laundry alternated.
Night feedings during his overnight visits were divided equally.
There was also couples counseling.
Julian stared at the paper.
“This feels like I'm applying for my own family.”
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“It's you showing up for one.”
He almost argued.
Then Lily began crying from the guest room.
Julian stood.
“I'll get her.”
That was the first small change.
The first week was a disaster.
He arrived Tuesday without formula because he'd assumed I had enough.
Thursday he forgot Sophie's favorite pacifier at our house.
Saturday he called me at 7:10 a.m.
“Claire?”
“What?”
“How do you get Lily to stop screaming?”
“You figure it out.”
“That's helpful.”
“It was the amount of help I had last weekend.”
Silence.
“That was deserved.”
I nearly smiled.
Nearly.
By the second week, things changed.
Julian created a diaper bag checklist on his phone.
He learned Lily liked being rocked sideways.
He discovered Sophie fell asleep when he hummed badly.
He learned to distinguish hungry crying from tired crying.
One afternoon I arrived at Mom's house and found him asleep on the couch with Sophie sprawled across his chest and Lily sleeping beside him inside the portable bassinet.
There were three unfolded baskets of laundry nearby.
For once, the mess didn't bother me.
It looked like evidence.
Then something unexpected happened.
Julian's company offered him a promotion.
Regional vice president.
More money.
More travel.
Six months earlier, he would have accepted immediately.
His boss, Richard Hale, called while Julian was feeding Sophie.
I wasn't intentionally listening.
But I heard Julian say, “How much travel?”
A pause.
“Three nights most weeks?”
Another pause.
“No.”
I looked up.
Julian saw me.
Richard apparently said something that made his expression tighten.
“I understand what I'm turning down.”
He ended the call.
“You rejected it?”
“Yes.”
“Because of us?”
“Because of me.”
I didn't understand.
He put the bottle down.
“I spent years thinking providing money was the same as providing a life.”
He glanced at Sophie.
“I don't want them growing up knowing me from airport departures.”
Something inside my chest loosened.
But trust isn't rebuilt by one good decision.
Then came week three.
And the photograph.
It arrived anonymously.
A picture of Julian at the fishing lodge.
He wasn't holding a fishing rod.
He was standing beside a woman.
Blonde.
Beautiful.
Her arm was around his waist.
Underneath was one sentence.
Ask your husband why he really went away.
My stomach turned.
Julian arrived twenty minutes later.
He knew immediately something was wrong.
“Claire?”
I handed him my phone.
The blood drained from his face.
And that frightened me more than the photograph.
“Who is she?”
“Claire—”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Vanessa.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“How do you know Vanessa?”
Julian sat down.
“She works with Mark's brother.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He closed his eyes.
“I knew she would be there.”
There it was.
The first crack in everything he'd been rebuilding.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Did you kiss her?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
Julian didn't answer quickly enough.
I stepped backward.
“Claire.”
“Get out.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Get out.”
He stood.
“She'd been flirting with me for months. I liked the attention.”
My eyes burned.
“I told myself it didn't mean anything.”
“You left your exhausted wife with two infants to spend four days around a woman you knew wanted you?”
“Yes.”
The honesty was almost crueler than a lie.
“I never touched her.”
“You already betrayed me before you packed the bag.”
Julian's face collapsed.
He didn't defend himself.
For once.
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“There's something else.”
I stared at him.
Of course there was.
He reached into his jacket.
But before he could show me, my mother's voice came sharply from the hallway.
“Claire.”
Something in her tone made us both turn.
Mom was holding an envelope.
Her face had gone pale.
“This came for you.”
There was no return address.
Inside was another photograph.
But this one wasn't of Julian and Vanessa.
It was of me.
Standing outside Rebecca Sloan's law office.
Taken from across the street.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
You should be careful who you trust.
