Chapter 3 I Found Another Woman’s Jacket

The Next Morning

As I was brewing chamomile tea in the kitchen, the sound of Bruna’s voice suddenly made my hand freeze over the cup.

The middle-aged Brazilian-American housekeeper emerged from the pantry carrying a clean tray. From the way her eyes widened and her pace consciously slowed, I knew instantly she hadn't come just to clear the table.

"Mrs. Rhea, you won't believe what I heard downstairs!"

I turned, suppressing a smile. "What is it, Bruna?"

Bruna set the tray on the counter, then leaned in close as if about to whisper a state secret.

"The lady from the penthouse next door was telling me about it in the parking garage this morning. Apparently, the woman living on the top floor of the building next door went ballistic last night after catching another woman showing up at her unit."

I raised an eyebrow. "Her husband's mistress?"

"That's what they say." Bruna shook her head sympathetically, though the look in her eyes was clearly more excited than concerned. "The woman went straight to the wife's home. The nerve of her. “

"Poor wife."

"That’s why you have to be careful, Mrs. Rhea." Bruna pointed a finger at me. "Rich men have too many opportunities. Money opens doors that ought to stay locked."

I chuckled. "Bruna, not all men are like that."

"Oh, I didn't say all of them." She held up both hands. "I’m just saying, don't be too overconfident."

"Thanks for the advice."

"If you need it, I have a solution."

I immediately looked at her suspiciously. "Why is it that whenever you say that, I feel like the problem is about to get a lot bigger?"

Bruna chuckled. "My aunt in Rio knows a brilliant Mãe de Santo. She can set up a spiritual shield so other women won't tempt your husband."

I nearly spat out my tea.

"Bruna!"

"If you don't want that kind of thing, we could find a Tarot reader in Greenwich Village."

 "Don't get any wild ideas. We're going to church after breakfast."

Bruna laughed until her shoulders shook. "I'm just looking after Mrs. Rhea's household."

She then straightened the edge of her tray and said in a more casual tone, "Besides, Mr. Zachary isn't exactly a man who's easy to ignore. Handsome, wealthy, devoted to his child, and still attentive to Mrs. Rhea after years of marriage. If I were you, I’d put up multiple layers of security, too."

I shook my head, smiling.

But before I could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway.

"Who were you two talking about?"

I turned around.

Zachary was standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His cashmere tie hung loose around his neck, his hair was slightly tousled, and his face still bore traces of travel fatigue.

In one hand, he held a pink box tied with a gold satin ribbon. In the other, a paper bag from Frenchette Bakery.

I immediately frowned.

Didn't that place open this early?

Zachary caught my gaze and gave a faint smile. "Don't look at me like that. I pre-ordered it."

"Since when do you plan breakfast while on a plane?"

"Since you complained two weeks ago that the croissants at home were always gone before you could get one."

I paused for a moment. Had I really complained about that?

He handed the paper bag to Bruna. "Please put this on the dining table before Zoe wakes up."

Bruna took the bag with a knowing smile. "Mr. Zachary, we were just talking about you."

"I can see that."

"Hopefully, it was something good."

"Usually, when Bruna says that, it means the exact opposite," I teased, making Bruna laugh before she finally walked away with the bag.

Once we were alone, Zachary walked over to me. He didn't kiss me right away, as he usually did. Instead, he simply picked up the spoon from beside my cup, tasted a bit of the chamomile tea, and made a face of dissatisfaction.

"Too hot."

"I just brewed it."

He took the cup from my hands and set it a little further away. He pushed the cup away, a subtle motion he'd often made during our marriage. He touched my waist and kissed my temple afterwards.

“Weren't you supposed to get back tomorrow night?" I asked.

"Plans changed."

"Because?"

"Papaaaa!"

Zoe’s voice echoed from the hallway. Zachary turned quickly as she ran toward him in her planet-patterned pajamas, her hair a messy tangle from sleep.

Zachary caught her in his arms, laughing as he handed her a pink box. Inside was a toy stethoscope.

"Papa, sit! Zoe, check!" she commanded. He obliged, letting her press the plastic device to his chest.

"What's the verdict?" he asked.

"Papa's heart makes many sounds."

"That means I'm still alive."

Their laughter filled the kitchen, momentarily silencing the doubts in my mind.

***

A few hours later, we were in the SUV heading to church. As we drove through Manhattan, I scrolled through my phone and rolled my eyes at a post from my sister-in-law, Ashley, posing at Fashion Week.

"Don't be like that before church," Zachary said.

"Did you see it?" I asked.

"You scoffed."

"I didn't."

"You did."

I scoffed again, on purpose, and he chuckled. It was a normal conversation, yet I found myself staring at his hand on the steering wheel, overthinking everything.

"Papa," Zoe called from the back. "Where is my teddy bear?"

"Let Mommy get it," Zachary said.

I opened the door and leaned back into the dim third row. Reaching under the seats, my hand brushed something coarse and cold in the gap of the carpet.

It wasn't a doll. I pulled out a woman’s cropped tweed jacket with pearl buttons—something that definitely didn't belong to me. Then came the scent: tuberose. Strong, sweet, and expensive.

My hands grew cold. I tried to convince myself there was a logical explanation—a staff member's, perhaps—but as I turned the jacket over, something fell from the pocket.

I stared at the small, foil-wrapped object on the carpet for a long time. I swallowed hard and picked it up.

It was a condom. Unused and unopened.