Chapter Three: The Photograph

NADIA POV

I found the photograph by accident.

It was in his coat pocket. The black coat he wore to the gala. He had left it on the chair in the bedroom. He never left his clothes out. He was always so careful. So precise. So neat.

But that night, he was careless.

I was hanging it up when I felt something in the pocket. A piece of paper. A photograph. I pulled it out without thinking. I did not expect to find anything. I was just tidying up. I was just being a good wife.

I froze.

She was beautiful. She was smiling. She was standing beside Julian. His arm was around her waist. Her head was on his shoulder. They looked happy. They looked like a couple. They looked like they belonged together.

I had never seen her before.

I had never seen him look at anyone the way he was looking at her.

I turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back. Julian's handwriting. Neat. Precise. Careless.

Me and S. Summer 2022.

Summer 2022.

That was two years ago. That was the summer I was in the hospital. That was the summer I lost our baby. That was the summer he told me he was on a business trip.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. I held the photograph in my hands. I stared at it until my vision blurred. I stared at it until I could not see anything anymore. I stared at it until I felt nothing.

I did not cry.

I did not scream.

I did not do anything.

I just sat there. Holding the photograph. Holding the proof. Holding the end of my marriage in my hands.

JULIAN POV

I was in my study when I realized the photograph was missing.

I had checked my coat before I left for the office. It was not there. I had checked my wallet. It was not there. I had checked my briefcase. It was not there.

The photograph was gone.

I did not panic. Not at first. I told myself I had left it at the office. I told myself I had misplaced it. I told myself it would turn up.

But I knew.

I knew it was in the penthouse.

I knew Nadia had found it.

I did not go home. I could not face her. Not yet. Not until I knew what she knew. Not until I had a plan.

I called Serena.

"Do not call me at work," she said.

"Listen to me."

"No, you listen to me. I told you to be careful. I told you not to keep anything. I told you—"

"Nadia found the photograph."

Silence.

"What photograph?"

"The one from last summer. The one with you and me."

Another silence. Longer. Heavier.

"You kept a photograph?" Her voice was sharp. Hard. "I told you to destroy it. I told you to—"

"I know what you told me."

"Then why do you still have it?"

I did not answer. I did not know how to answer. I did not know why I kept it. I did not know why I held onto the evidence of my own destruction.

"She knows," I said.

"She suspects. There is a difference."

"What do I do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"You do nothing. You say nothing. You wait."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it go away. But I knew she was right. I knew I had to wait. I knew I had to see how much Nadia knew before I made my move.

"Fine," I said.

"Fine," she said.

She hung up.

I sat there in my study. Alone. Waiting. Wondering. For the first time in years, I did not know what was going to happen next.

NADIA POV

I did not confront him that night.

I did not confront him the next night either.

I did not confront him at all.

I put the photograph back in his coat pocket. I hung the coat up. I went about my day like nothing had happened. I smiled at him when he came home. I asked him how his day was. I made him dinner. I sat beside him on the couch. I played the part of the perfect wife.

But I was not the perfect wife anymore.

I was a woman with a secret.

I was a woman with a plan.

I did not know what the plan was yet. I did not know what I was going to do. I only knew that I could not stay. I could not stay in this marriage. I could not stay in this house. I could not stay with this man.

I was going to leave him.

But not yet.

Not until I had everything I needed.

Not until I had proof.

Not until I could destroy him the way he had destroyed me.

---

That night, I lay in bed beside him.

He was asleep. He always fell asleep fast. He never had trouble sleeping. He never lay awake wondering if his wife was planning to leave him.

I did.

I lay there and stared at the ceiling. I thought about the photograph. I thought about her. I thought about all the nights he had lied to me. All the nights he had been with her instead of me. All the nights I had spent alone, wondering where he was, wondering who he was with, wondering why he did not love me anymore.

I did not wonder anymore.

I knew.

He did not love me.

He never did.

---

The next morning, I found the second photograph.

It was in his wallet this time. Stuffed in the back. Hidden behind his credit cards. I found it while I was looking for cash. I was not snooping. I was not searching. I was just looking.

But I found it.

It was a different photograph. A newer one. It was taken in a hospital room. The woman was in bed. She was holding a baby. A little boy. Julian was standing beside her. He was smiling. He was holding her hand.

On the back, in Julian's handwriting, was a date.

August 14th.

My hands started to shake.

I knew that date.

I knew that date better than I knew my own name.

August 14th was the day I lost my baby.

August 14th was the day I sat in a hospital room and listened to the doctor tell me there was nothing they could do.

August 14th was the day my husband left for a business trip and did not come back for three weeks.

He was not on a business trip.

He was in a hospital room.

With her.

With their son.

I dropped the photograph. I dropped it like it was on fire. I dropped it like it was poison. I dropped it and I stood there. Frozen. Silent. Shattered.

I did not know how long I stood there. I did not know how long I stared at the wall. I did not know how long I held my breath.

I only knew that everything was different now.

Everything was over.