Chapter 4

Amelia didn't sleep that night. Not because she didn't want to. Because she couldn't.

Beside her, Nathan's breathing had settled into the slow, even sound of a man with nothing on his mind. She lay staring at the ceiling, his question circling back again and again, the same six words on a loop she couldn't switch off.

You'd tell me if something was wrong. Wouldn't you?

Why had he asked that? Four years of marriage, and he'd never once asked her that before. Not when his business supposedly fell apart. Not the night Marcus made his cruel joke at dinner. Not even the night he told her, across their kitchen table, that he could never give her children. So why now? Why, two days after a receipt she'd told no one about, was her own husband suddenly checking her for cracks?

And why did their five-year-old know a woman well enough to call her "the flower lady," easy as breathing, like it was nothing at all?

Somewhere near three in the morning, she made a decision.

She waited until Saturday, when Zane was two streets over at a birthday party and the house was, for once, actually quiet. No Marcus stomping through the kitchen. No music thudding down through the ceiling from Priya's room.

Nathan sat at the table with his coffee, scrolling through his phone. Amelia sat down across from him with hers, heart beating harder than the moment should have called for.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looked up. "Of course."

"Who's R. Marsh? And don't tell me a vendor again. I want the real answer."

His eyes narrowed, just slightly. He set the phone down slowly, the way you set down something you're afraid you might throw otherwise.

"Where's this coming from?"

"Does it matter where it's coming from?"

"It matters if my own wife is going through my things trying to build a case against me."

"I found a receipt in your coat, Nathan. Lilies. An address two hours north. That's not building a case. That's noticing."

"You went to the florist too, didn't you." It wasn't really a question. Something behind his eyes was doing quick math, working out exactly how much she knew.

"I did."

He laughed, short, no warmth in it. "Four years, and this is where we are. You following receipts around town like I'm some kind of criminal."

"Then tell me who she is. Really tell me. Not eight months, not design work up north. Tell me why our son knows her well enough to call her something."

Nathan went still. Truly still, the kind of still that told her more than any answer could have.

"What did Zane say?"

"He called her the flower lady. Said your phone does 'the blinky thing' whenever she texts, and that it happens a lot. That's not a vendor, Nathan. That's someone who's been around him."

For the first time since she'd known him, Amelia watched her husband search for words and not find any fast enough.

"She's someone I used to know," he said finally, quiet now, none of the smoothness from before. "Before you and I got married. It's complicated, and I didn't want to drag old history into our life for no reason."

"Complicated how?"

"I'll tell you everything when the timing is right. I promise you that."

"You keep saying that word. Soon. Right timing. I don't think there's ever going to be a right time for whatever this is, Nathan. I think you're hoping I'll get tired of asking."

He reached across the table for her hand. She let him take it, even though every part of her wanted to pull away.

"I love you," he said. "Whatever you're imagining right now, that part hasn't changed."

"I didn't ask if you loved me."

"No," he said quietly. "You didn't."

They sat there a long moment, neither of them finishing the conversation, both of them knowing it wasn't finished. Under the table, Amelia's other hand had curled into a fist in her lap, nails leaving small marks in her palm.

"Okay," she said at last.

"Okay?"

"I'm done asking today." She stood, taking her coffee with her, needing to be anywhere else in the house. "But this isn't over."

"I know," he said, and for once he didn't try to smile his way out of it.

That afternoon, Amelia sat outside the school, waiting to pick up Zane from his friend's party, and let herself finally feel what she hadn't let herself feel at that table. Her hands started shaking now that there was no one left to perform calm for.

Zane came barreling out of the building with a goodie bag in one hand and cake frosting still on his chin.

"Mommy, guess what. There was a piñata and I got the MOST candy."

"Did you say thank you to Mrs. Alvarez?"

"Yes." He climbed into his booster seat, still buzzing, sorting his candy into piles by color the way he sorted everything. Then, without looking up, like it wasn't a big deal at all:

"Daddy said not to tell you about the boat yet. He said it's a surprise for later."

Amelia's hands went still on the wheel. "What boat, baby?"

"The one at the water place. With the white chairs." He popped a candy in his mouth, already moving on. "He said don't ruin the surprise. So don't be mad I told you."

"I'm not mad." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "When did you go there?"

Zane shrugged, the way five-year-olds shrug at anything more than a week old. "A while ago. He said it's for a party. A big one." He held up a red candy like it mattered more than anything he'd just said. "Can I have this one now or save it?"

"Save it for after dinner," she said, on autopilot, while something cold settled low in her stomach.

A party. A boat. White chairs. Nathan had told her nothing about any of it no date on the calendar, no mention over dinner, nothing. And he'd told a five-year-old to keep it from her, framed as a surprise, the kind of secret a child holds onto happily because he trusts the person who gave it to him.

She looked at her son in the rearview mirror, candy already forgotten in his lap, humming to himself, completely unaware he'd just handed his mother something he had no idea was heavy.

Whatever this party was, it wasn't a surprise for her.

She drove home with the radio off, Zane's humming the only sound in the car, and understood that the ground under her hadn't just shifted once this week.

It was still moving. And for the first time, she wasn't sure she wanted it to stop before she saw exactly how far it would go.