Page 17 of You Know Why

“If you’d like to leave your contact details, we will certainly call you if any new information arises.”

Hand shaking, I write down my email and phone number, Matheson gives me his card, and that’s it. The interview is over. I am free to leave. And go where? I have no idea.

The kids are scared and quiet. They know something momentous has happened.

We are escorted from the secure area. Eden signals that she’ll be a minute and peels off to talk to Matheson.

The checked bag is waiting; they’ve pulled it off the plane. Four still has Trey’s carry-on, and I kneel to hug him. “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to sit in these chairs for a bit while Mommy calls Aunt Margot, okay?”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Daddy had to run an errand.”

“So, no Italy trip?” Neve chimes in.

“Not today, babies.”

She twirls in a perfect circle. “Yay, let’s go home! I can dance in the recital, Mommy. They said they’d save my spot, just in case.”

“Maybe, honey. I need to think, okay? Give me a second.”

Four takes my hand. “Miss Eden said we could stay here and play if you need to make some calls.”

Eden comes through the door just as he finishes. She smiles, wide like a crocodile. Her dentition is imperfect, her front incisors jut forward a bit, making her face lupine, but charming.

“Hi there. Totally can.”

“I’m sure you have someplace to be that’s not here.”

“I actually live in Atlanta, quite nearby. I’m happy to stick around while you get situated. And I’d love to talk to you some more. I’m so sorry about all of this. I hope I didn’t cause an issue.”

I would never normally allow a stranger this much access to my kids, especially one who claims to know my husband, but we’re in uncharted territory. I’m desperate, and I could use the help, that’s for sure. And I want to find out how she knew Trey’s real name.

“I’m sure it wasn’t you. But yes, if you can keep an eye on them, just for another half an hour or so? I’m sure you’re tired and want to get home.”

“No problem. Do what you need. I’ll take them back into the secure area again so you don’t have to worry. Just have someone ask for me when you finish.”

“Thank you, Eden.” I kiss each baby on the forehead and again tell Four he’s in charge, and Eden leads them back through the door. Neve does several pirouettes for her, and she claps appreciatively.

With a sigh, I take Trey’s carry-on to the seats across from the secure area and plop down. He packed his own bag, but I know what’s inside. Merino-wool shirts, pants, shoes, boxers, his Dopp kit. He’s a simple guy, unfussy about most everything. I’m an expert in packing light, even when it’s going to be chilly, and thankfully, he listened to my suggestions. No reason to take a ton overseas; you can do laundry cheaply every few days. I unzip the bag and start pawing through it, touching everything, the built-in zipper areas first, then slower through his clothes, toiletries . . . nothing is unusual. Everything smells like him, a mixture of cedar and lime that is the base for his cologne. The pockets of his pants hold nothing unusual. The tracker is still in place inside the suitcase’s lining, as is the cell phone he got at the AT&T store down the street that will work overseas, since we didn’t have time to update our plan.

There are no clues as to why he would bolt on us like this. And why didn’t his phone open for me? When had he changed the passcode?

I try to remember the last time I used his phone . . . Maybe at one of the kids’ soccer games? It’s been a while.

I’m starting to feel quite stupid. I’ve always assumed Trey had nothing to hide from me. He is so open with everything. So open with his office, his work, his thoughts. His heart, his mind, his skills. Our household accounts. He does the banking and bill paying—he’s the money expert, after all—but he’s never hidden any of it from me. On the contrary, we often do it together, sitting at the kitchen table after the kids have gone to bed.

But he must be having an affair. Why else would he change his passcodes? Why else would he leave if not for another woman?

The thought makes me want to hurl. The sense of loss is overwhelming. More than loss. Betrayal, horror. Deep in my body, my heart is breaking. He’s left me in the most public way possible. I fight back the sobs. Crying is not going to solve anything right now. I have to think logically.

When would he even have had time for an affair? He sleeps in our bed every night. He works from home. He is almost always around, and the only time he isn’t is when he walks the kids to and from school or stops in at the office for a meeting. There could have been some sort of quickie in a back seat during the school pickup line, or the meetings were faked, but I dismiss that, too.

The demon on my shoulder scoffs. When he’s on the road, you idiot.

The angel scoffs right back: Yeah, while he’s listening to audiobooks in the car and calling me from the hotel to complain he’s lonely?

Maybe it’s this Chloe person. Does he have a whole different family in another city? And he has to visit them so they don’t get too suspicious?