Chapter 5 - The Woman at the Lake
Julian wanted to call the police.
I wanted answers.
Rebecca wanted both.
“This changes things,” she said the next morning.
She examined the photograph without touching it directly.
“Someone followed you.”
“Vanessa?”
“Possibly.”
Julian shook his head.
“She wouldn't do this.”
I turned on him.
“You've known her well enough to determine that?”
He flinched.
Fair.
Rebecca asked Julian to explain everything.
He did.
Vanessa Cole had joined a consulting team working with his company eight months earlier. She was confident, flirtatious and apparently very interested in married men who were unhappy enough to enjoy being noticed.
Julian insisted he never had an affair.
But he admitted something almost as damaging.
He complained to her about me.
About the babies.
About our marriage.
About never having sex anymore.
About coming home to chaos.
I stared at him while he confessed.
“You discussed our marriage with another woman?”
“I was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“And embarrassed by how overwhelmed I felt.”
“So you made me the problem.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
Somehow that made listening possible.
Vanessa had learned about the fishing trip through Mark's brother and arranged to be at the same lodge with friends.
Julian knew.
He went anyway.
“What happened there?” Rebecca asked.
“The first night, she came to my room.”
My stomach dropped.
“I didn't let her inside.”
Julian looked at me.
“I told her I'd made a mistake coming.”
“Then why didn't you come home?”
His eyes lowered.
“Pride.”
That answer I believed.
The next afternoon, Vanessa called me.
I almost didn't answer.
Then I did.
“Claire?”
Her voice was surprisingly soft.
“Yes.”
“You received the picture.”
“Did you send it?”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Did you send the second one?”
“What second one?”
I didn't answer.
Vanessa exhaled.
“Look, I know you hate me.”
“I don't know you well enough to hate you.”
That silenced her.
Then she said, “Julian didn't cheat with me.”
“Congratulations.”
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
She explained that the photograph at the lake had been taken deliberately.
By her.
She had asked a friend to photograph them because she'd expected something to happen between herself and Julian.
Nothing did.
After returning to Chicago, Julian stopped responding to her messages.
Vanessa became angry.
Then she saw pictures of Julian with the twins online and realized he'd returned to his family.
“So you sent the picture to destroy us?”
“I sent it because you deserved to know he went there knowing I'd be there.”
It wasn't kindness.
But she wasn't wrong.
“What about the picture outside the attorney's office?”
“I swear I didn't take it.”
Then she said something strange.
“Claire, has Julian told you why his company is suddenly offering him that promotion?”
“No.”
“He should.”
The call ended.
That evening I confronted him.
Julian went quiet.
“It's not really a promotion.”
“What is it?”
“They're restructuring.”
He explained.
His division had been losing money for almost a year.
Several executives had concealed expenses and inflated revenue forecasts.
Julian had discovered discrepancies shortly before the twins were born.
He'd started asking questions.
His boss wanted him transferred.
More money.
More travel.
And, conveniently, less access to the Chicago accounts.
“You think they were trying to get rid of you?”
“I know they were.”
“And this has something to do with somebody following me?”
“I don't know.”
Then Julian removed a flash drive from his pocket.
“This is what I was trying to show you yesterday.”
“What is it?”
“Copies.”
“Of?”
“Everything.”
I stared at the tiny object.
He had documentation suggesting executives at his company had hidden millions in losses.
Suddenly our marital disaster had collided with something much larger.
“You need to take this to an attorney.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
I blinked.
“Without telling me?”
“I didn't want to drag you into another problem I created.”
It was perhaps the first time Julian had understood the difference between protecting me and making decisions for me.
Then he said, “Claire, none of this excuses what I did.”
“No.”
“I was selfish before any of this started.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“And if you divorce me, I'll understand.”
I wasn't prepared for that.
The old Julian would have argued.
The old Julian would have explained why I was overreacting.
This man simply looked tired.
“I don't know what I'm going to do.”
“You don't have to.”
He walked toward the door.
“Julian?”
He turned.
“Your Saturday with the girls is still happening.”
Something flashed across his face.
Relief.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me. They're your daughters.”
Saturday morning, he arrived with pancakes for Mom and coffee for me.
No flowers.
No dramatic apology.
Just breakfast.
He changed diapers.
Washed bottles.
Took the girls for a walk.
When Sophie fell asleep against him, I watched from the porch.
I hated how much I still loved him.
But loving someone and trusting them were different things.
That night, Julian returned to our empty house.
At 11:46 p.m., his security alarm triggered.
He checked the camera from his phone.
A hooded figure had entered through the rear door.
Julian called 911.
Police arrived seven minutes later.
Whoever had broken in was gone.
Nothing expensive had been taken.
Not the television.
Not the laptops.
Not Julian's watches.
Only one thing was missing.
The flash drive.
Except the thief had made one mistake.
The drive he'd stolen was empty.
May you like
The real evidence was somewhere nobody had thought to look.
Inside a pink stuffed rabbit belonging to our daughter.
