Chapter 3
WATCHING
In the weeks that followed, Eliana didn’t bring up the phone again.
She’d sat up that first night, thinking .
. . and scheming. She wasn’t sure why he’d tell such an easily disproven lie, or when he’d become so proficient at it.
Was this really where it began, or was this a pattern she’d only just begun to recognize?
Was it anger driving him? Boredom? Pride? Arrogance?
At first, when the code didn’t work, she was hit with a pang of sorrow so deep, it carved its marks into her bones.
A hand flew to cover her mouth as she choked on a sob.
There was no way, not at that point, that he wasn’t up to something.
No way to reason that lie away. Though she was sure he’d have some bullshit excuse if she bothered to ask.
He’d say she’d gotten the year wrong, or he had to change it again, or maybe he’d just deflect and say he was hurt by her lack of trust.
She froze at the thought, at the countless memories of him using such a phrase to brush aside her words. It had seemed so innocuous each time, but now . . . Now she scoffed, allowing anger to slide into the driver’s seat.
Her first instinct had been to use the Victorian stained glass lamp sitting atop the bedside table as a battering ram—to put a large enough hole through the window that she could launch his clothes onto the lawn.
But she was smarter than that . . . and it would’ve been such a regretful waste of a gorgeous antique.
She considered waking him up to hash it out—but then remembered the drive he’d taken and how he’d offered her the phone unlocked. If there had been anything incriminating, it was long gone. It would simply result in another circular argument that left her feeling like the back end of a donkey.
Then she thought about their family situation. He was the sole breadwinner, the only one with a degree, with work experience, with credit. If she pushed this until she knew the full truth, and if he were cheating . . . where did that leave her? Where did that leave their girls?
Eliana returned to her side of the bed and sat, staring down at the lock of dark hair lying haphazardly across his peaceful face, the scruff lining his jaw, and the long, jealousy-inducing curve of his eyelashes.
He was such a handsome man—he always had been.
But he’d always made her feel special, like she was the only woman he saw.
She squinted down at him . . . had she been hypnotized this entire time by the infamous body betrayal syndrome?
No. She shook her head. He was her husband, and she’d trusted him.
She’d loved him. And regardless of whether or not he was cheating, he was blatantly lying to her.
She needed the truth, and she needed consequences—but she wasn’t quite ready to go another round of verbal sparring.
She needed validation, but more importantly, she needed proof. Hard, irrefutable proof.
So, she started watching and observing, quiet and inconspicuous.
Taking note—both literally and figuratively.
When Jesse’s calls home started coming later in the day, growing shorter and shorter, and when he started adding additional days to the work trips.
She noticed the day the password changed on the credit card, and the alerts stopped showing up.
The way they naturally drifted apart in the bedroom, now that she wasn’t initiating.
The speed at which he’d leave a room after his phone rang ‘for business’ or the delay in his response while he typed away at a text, a secret smile on his face.
He still made a conscious effort with their daughters, and though she was grateful for it, it only served to further illustrate how he could make the effort if he wanted to.
She also found herself observing other couples more carefully—like their neighbors, Milo and Bea.
She couldn’t help but notice how Milo would dote on Bea.
Outside of a full-time job, he maintained an entire bee farm in their backyard solely to help support his wife’s consignment shop in town, Busy Bea—where his honeycomb served as the store’s main attraction.
Bea had never been anything but kind to Eliana.
They’d spent countless afternoons chatting on the porch or laughing over recipes.
More than once, she’d come through to watch the girls when they found themselves in a pinch, needing a last-minute sitter.
And more than anything else, Bea listened.
As a businesswoman, she understood Eliana’s desires to contribute and spoke of them like they were actual goals, rather than pointless dreams.
And yet, despite their friendship, Eliana couldn’t help comparing herself to the woman.
Wondering what it was about Bea that made her husband so infatuated, while Eliana’s .
. . wasn’t. It was no hardship to spot the differences.
Bea was slender and beautiful, while Eliana was full-bodied and plain.
They had the same shade of dark brown hair, though Bea’s fell in thick, glossy curls and Eliana’s hung straight and flat.
And while Bea was extroverted and sweet to everyone, Eliana was more naturally ambiverted, holding reservations toward strangers and unknown situations.
Eliana had never felt jealousy towards her neighbor before, not in a decade of living beside her, but she could recognize the feelings for what they were. Hating how Bea made it look so effortless, and hating herself for thinking such thoughts.
She’d considered talking to Bea about the situation with Jesse, but Eliana’s embarrassment held her back.
It made her physically ill, having such negative emotions towards a woman she cared for as a friend.
So, she pushed off their weekly chats and hid away when Bea knocked on the door, thoroughly isolating herself in the spiraling nightmare Eliana was unable to escape.
For weeks, she watched, and with every day, she slipped an inch closer to madness, keeping it all bottled up.
There was no concrete evidence—no sign whatsoever of another woman.
Just a steady decline in the attention he afforded her.
Subtle little changes that would never flag as suspicious to anyone other than the woman who’d stood at his side for half his life.
She knew he was hiding something, but anytime she asked about some inconsistency in a story or an odd timing discrepancy, an easy excuse was quick off his tongue. Jesse was a businessman, and Eliana suddenly had the distinct impression that she was being managed.
She wanted to talk to somebody, but the person she usually went to with her problems was Jesse.
She briefly considered calling her best friend, Clem, but ultimately decided not to.
Not yet. Her friend had a tendency to be a little .
. . overzealous, and Eliana wasn’t quite ready to burn the world down.
She had to do something, though. So, to help herself process, to grieve, she began writing it down.
She changed the names and the settings, and then she put it all down on paper in a great purge of emotion.
Exactly how it was. The secrets, the lies, the dialogue were almost verbatim—which was easy because it all played in her mind like a broken record. Day in and day out.
She was no author. She’d wanted to go to school for sonography.
But she told the truth, or . . . her truth as she saw it and felt it.
And then she loaded the words into one of her favorite discussion boards, asking what her internet friends thought of a story with that premise.
If they thought the husband‘s, Josh’s, actions were suspicious, or if she was simply making her female lead, Emma, sound crazy.
And to both her validation and her horror, the comments came pouring in.