chapter 3

Evelyn’s POV

The next morning, Nathan was standing at the kitchen island when I walked in, his phone turned toward me like a weapon.

“Mom,” he said, voice tight. “You’ve seen this, right?”

On the screen, Alfred was in a navy suit, head ducked, walking beside Julia. The caption underneath read: Senator Cole exits Marlowe Hotel at midnight with unidentified woman rumored to be having an affair.

Unidentified.

As if I didn’t already know that green dress. The one she wore to last week’s fundraiser the one I helped her zip up before the car arrived.

I didn’t reach for the phone. I just stood there, my robe loose at the neck, coffee cooling in my hand, pretending the world wasn’t splitting in two right between my feet.

“Yes,” I said finally. My voice came out calm, detached, like I was delivering a verdict. “I’ve seen it.”

Nathan looked at me as if he expected something panic, denial, tears. I gave him nothing.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“Still in his office,”I said

He cursed under his breath. “You know it’s not true, right? You know he wouldn’t…”

I turned to face him fully. He had Alfred’s jawline, Alfred’s stubborn way of standing as if he were already bracing for impact. He adored his Father

“Of course I do just don’t worry, it’s a misunderstanding it will be sorted baby,” I said softly. “Go to school.”

“Mom…”

“Just go”

He hesitated, jaw tight, then slipped the phone into his pocket and walked out the door. The sound of it closing echoed through the house, leaving me with the hum of the refrigerator and the faint pulse of my heartbeat in my throat.

A moment later, Alfred’s voice sliced through the silence. “Call PR. Get it scrubbed before noon!” He was shouting into his phone as he entered the kitchen, shirt half-buttoned, tie hanging loose. “I want Lawson on damage control.”

He hung up and finally saw me. His sigh came out sharp, like I was another crisis he had to handle.

“You saw it,” he said.

“I did.”

He poured himself coffee steady, indifferent. “You know how the media twists things. I was at the hotel for a briefing. That girl she followed me out. It’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing?” I repeated, almost laughing. “Because it looks like something.”

He turned, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re not going to start this again, Evelyn. We’ve been through worse. You always overreact when you’re emotional.”

The word lodged under my skin like a splinter.

“Emotional,” I repeated, slowly. “Do you even hear yourself?”

He shrugged, a faint half-smile tugging at his lips. “You’re overthinking this. I’ve told you before don’t make mountains out of molehills.”

I looked down at my hands. Was I overthinking? Was this my fault somehow? Was I not enough? “I just… I don’t understand,” I whispered. “Am I not… enough?”

He reached for my hand, brushing it lightly, almost casually. “You are,” he said softly. “I just need you to trust me.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to. The thought of letting go, of thinking he could hurt me, was unbearable. I wanted to swallow the suspicion and the ache in my chest and tell myself it was just misreading, overthinking. Maybe it was my fault too quiet at home, too busy with the kids, too distracted by schedules, meetings, dinners I prepared in vain. Maybe I hadn’t been enough.

I pulled my hand back, forcing a smile that felt like it belonged to someone else. “I do trust you…but…”

“I will take care of it, trust me” he cut inThe silence after that was sharp enough to draw blood. He straightened his tie, grabbed his jacket, and muttered, “You’ll calm down.”

When the door shut behind him, I let the quiet swallow me whole.

The TV murmured from the corner, replaying the same headline on loop. I turned the volume down, poured myself a glass of wine yes, before noon and took the first sip. It burned. The second one didn’t.

I leaned against the counter, staring at the empty hallway where he’d just stood.Had I failed somewhere? Had I missed a signal, not said the right thing, not been enough for him?

Twenty-two years. That’s how long it had been since I first said yes to Alfred Cole. He’d been magnetic back then brilliant, ambitious, relentless. And I’d loved that about him. Maybe I still did, in a way that made no sense.

I could still see the night he asked me to pause my career. We were on the couch, campaign flyers scattered everywhere, running for his first office his head in my lap. “Evie,” he’d said, “if you focus on the kids and home for a while, I can take this further. Once we’re stable, you can go back.”

I’d believed him.

But a while became years.

And somewhere along the way, he stopped saying we.

Now, as I scrolled through the flood of gossip posts, I saw the same headline repeated across every site.The comments underneath made my stomach twist:

“Poor wife. She should’ve left years ago.”

“You can’t make a good man stay home.”

They didn’t know me. They didn’t know how much I wanted to save my marriage to have back the man I married. And I tried to convince myself that it would be enough. That if I kept trying, if I kept watching, observing, measuring every word, every glance, every movement, I could fix what was happening. I could hold my family together, protect them, protect him, protect the image I had worked so hard to maintain. And still, he was out there “managing optics” while I was in here cleaning his coffee mug.

I rinsed it slowly, watching the red wine fade down the drain until only clear water ran. I wanted to smash it to hear something break that wasn’t me.

I continued drinking it was just a small comfort, just something to take the edge off, to remind me that I could still make choices, even if they felt hollow. I set the wine glass down, my fingers tracing the rim, thinking of the dresses I’d bought, the Pilates classes I’d endured, the skin treatments Cynthia suggested. Maybe if I could just be better, look better, try harder… maybe then, he’d come back.

Maybe then, everything would be fine though my mind was slowly not believing it anymore