Emma didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed beside James, listening to him breathe, watching shadows move across the ceiling. Her phone sat on the nightstand like a live grenade.
The photo haunted her. James and a blonde woman. Close. Intimate. His hand on her arm. Her laughing at something he'd said.
Three days ago. While Emma had been at a meeting in Boston.
She'd told herself there was an explanation. A reasonable, innocent explanation.
But at three AM, reasonable explanations felt impossible.
At five AM, she gave up on sleep. Slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake James.
She made coffee in the dark. Stared at her phone.
She could just ask him. Show him the photo. Demand an explanation.
But what if the explanation destroyed everything?
What if she'd been right to be
