He hesitated.
Then handed it to me.
“Do you and Jenna share locations?”
His face went still.
“Yes.”
“Open it.”
He did.
A small blue dot appeared.
Fairfield Inn.
Room information wasn’t visible.
But the location was enough.
Daniel swallowed.
“She’s still there.”
“So is your father.”
He looked toward the cemetery gate.
“Mom—”
“No.”
His hands curled into fists.
“I could be there in ten minutes.”
“And tomorrow you could be answering questions in a police station.”
That stopped him.
I touched his arm.
“Don’t give them that.”
His breathing slowed.
Barely.
But enough.
I handed the phone back.
“Go to my
house.”
“What?”
“Take your truck. Park behind the garage.”
“And you?”
“I’m going home first.”
He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
“You’re going home?”
“Yes.”
“What if Dad’s there?”
“He won’t be yet.”
“How do you know?”
I glanced at the time.
8:42.
“Because your father has habits.”
Even now.
Even after everything.
I knew Mark.
He never rushed home from anywhere.
Not from golf.
Not from dinner.
Not from betrayal, apparently.
Daniel searched my face.
“What are you going to do?”
“Pack a bag.”
“For you?”
“Partly.”
I left him at the cemetery.
Before walking away, I touched my father’s headstone once.
“Watch us,” I whispered.
Then I drove home.
The house looked exactly the same.
That was the strangest part.
The porch light glowed warmly.
The wreath I had bought last weekend hung on the front door.
Inside, the dishwasher hummed.
A
framed photograph from Daniel’s wedding sat on the living-room table.
Mark and I stood behind the bride and groom.
All four of us smiling.
I picked up the frame.
Jenna wore lace.
Daniel’s hand rested protectively at her waist.
Mark stood beside me.
His hand on my shoulder.
I studied his face.
Had it already started then?
Had Mark looked at Jenna during the ceremony and remembered where they had been together?
Had Jenna kissed my son at the altar knowing she had betrayed him with his own father?
I put the frame facedown.
Then I walked upstairs.
I didn’t pack much.
Three shirts.
