On the third anniversary of my baby's death, David Delgado said he'd go with me to visit the grave.

I felt bad about how many back-to-back shifts he'd been pulling, so I offered to pick him up myself.

When I opened the GPS, my breath caught.

There were two home addresses pinned to the top.

One was our place: Unit 9, Nebula Heights.

The other was Number 7, Emerald Bay Villa.

It had been pinned there for three years.

——

My phone buzzed. A message from him: "Meeting ran long. Next year, okay?"

Outside the window, his familiar Maybach flew past.

By the time I came back to my senses, I was already parked at the entrance to the villa district.

Emerald Bay was the most exclusive neighborhood in the city. As far as I knew, David didn't own any property here.

"You're looking for Mr. Delgado? And you say you're his wife?" The security guard let out a short laugh. "Give me a break. Everyone here knows Mr. Delgado and his wife. They've been living here five, six years now. Young lady, you really ought to find something better to do with your time."

A sharp sting in my chest. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my phone. I pulled up our marriage certificate, stiff as a board, and held it out.

The guard gave me a strange, almost pitying look. Then he shook his head.

I didn't want to make trouble for him. The moment he turned around, I slipped through the gate.

A row of low hedges ran along the perimeter wall. Through the iron fence, I could see into the gardens beyond.

I ran five hundred meters along the wall.

Then I stopped.

The familiar Maybach. The license plate with all those eights. On the garden lawn stood an enormous arch of pink and blue balloons.

The banner read: "Happy 3rd Birthday, Pete!"

Three years old.

Today.

If my baby had lived, he would have been three.

My head throbbed. The aftermath of losing my child had tormented me for three full years. One thousand and ninety-five days and nights.

During the ten-minute drive, I'd run through every possibility. Maybe he was dropping off a client. Maybe he was planning a surprise for me. Maybe he'd gotten into some kind of trouble and was trying to handle it before I found out.

David wouldn't lie to me.

He especially wouldn't lie to me on our baby's memorial day.

After all, we had loved each other so deeply once.

I didn't want to jump to conclusions.

But in that moment, the truth shattered every excuse I'd built.

A child's laughter drifted from the yard.

A long table had been set up on the lawn, covered end to end with cake and presents and snacks.

David Delgado was crouching on the grass, a little boy cradled in his arms.

The boy wore a tiny blue suit, his cheeks puffed out as he leaned toward the candles on the cake.

A woman stood beside them. Long hair spilling over her shoulders, a white dress, clapping her hands with a bright smile.

"One, two, three..."

My nails dug into my palms.

Today was the third anniversary of my child's death.

And he was here, celebrating another child's third birthday.

"Good job! Pete's the best!"

The woman bent down and kissed the boy's cheek.

David had his arm around the child, grinning so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners.

That kind of smile. I hadn't seen it on his face in a long time.

"Daddy, I made a wish!"

The little boy tipped his head back, his voice soft and milky.

"What did you wish for?"

"I want Daddy and Mommy to be with me every single day!"

David pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Daddy promises."

Daddy.

I could hear my own breathing, ragged and heavy, like a person drowning.

My hands were shaking.

Every instinct screamed at me to charge in there and demand answers, to flip that table over, to ask him what our child had ever meant to him.

But I didn't move.

Because I knew David Delgado too well.

If I stormed in now, I'd be met with a thousand explanations.

"You're misunderstanding."

"She's a client's daughter."

"The boy belongs to a friend. We're just watching him."

He would find a hundred different ways to turn my fury into hysteria.

I pulled out my phone.

My hands were still shaking, but the lens held steady.

I aimed it at the garden.

Six photos. Then a video.

David smeared frosting from the cake onto the boy's nose. The boy giggled. The woman leaned in and wiped his face clean.

A family of three.

I hit stop.

My phone buzzed.

A message from David.

"Ellie, don't wait up for me. Might have to pull an all-nighter tonight. Make sure you eat something. Get some rest."

An all-nighter.

Right. A beautiful evening, the whole family together. Of course it would be an all-nighter.

My hands and feet went ice-cold. My stomach turned inside out. I dropped to my knees on the side of the road and threw up until the world went dark around the edges.

When I turned to walk back, I didn't cry.

But my legs were so weak I could barely stand.

I made it out of the side road and called a car.

In the backseat, I buried my face in my palms. My eyes were bone-dry and burning.

One deep breath. Then I dialed my best friend's number.

"Lucinda."

"Are you free right now?"

"Just got back from the courthouse. What's going on?"

"David's cheating on me."

Lucinda Simmons went silent on the other end for a full ten seconds.

For a top-tier attorney, that was practically falling apart.

"You're sure it's David?"

"Five eights on the license plate. He called the boy Pete to his face. The boy called him Daddy."

"Send me the photos."

I sent everything. Photos and video.

Another ten seconds of silence.

"Ellie, go home. Don't say a word. Don't do a thing."

"Don't touch his phone. Don't confront him. Don't let your face change."

"Back up the photos and video three times. Once to the cloud, once to me, and hide the third copy somewhere safe."

I murmured an acknowledgment.

"I'll look into the woman," Lucinda said.

I pushed open the front door. David was busy in the kitchen.

"You're back?"

He came out carrying a bowl of soup, smiling at me.

"You look awful. I made pork rib soup. You barely ate anything this morning."

His shirtsleeves were rolled to his forearms, apron tied neatly at his waist.

A completely different man from the one holding another child in that villa's garden four hours ago.

"Meeting's over?" I took the bowl.

"Yeah, dragged on all morning."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Drink the soup. You don't look well."

The meat fell right off the bone, tender the way I liked it.

Just like the soup from that little restaurant outside the university gates, all those years ago.

Back then, his monthly allowance was a few hundred dollars. Taking me out for a bowl of pork rib soup meant saving up for three days.

When the check came, he'd always sneak the last piece of rib into my bowl when he thought I wasn't looking.

I teased him for being cheap. He tapped my nose and said, "Once I'm making real money, I'll cook this for you every single day."

He kept that promise.

On our wedding day, he stood at the altar and said, "Ellie Pruitt, it took me eight years to get from matching hoodies to matching rings. The next eight years, I'm giving you a home."

The room erupted in applause.

I cried so hard my makeup ran.

When I got pregnant, he was more nervous than I was.

He stared at those two lines on the test for three solid seconds, then swept me off my feet and spun me around twice.

"I'm going to be a dad!"

He shouted it loud enough for the entire building to hear.

Through the whole pregnancy, he woke up early every morning to take my temperature and make breakfast. Never missed a single checkup.

He even bought a parenting book and read it so many times the pages curled at the corners.

On the inside cover, he'd written: For our little Beanie... Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you to come home.

Beanie.

That was the nickname we'd picked for our baby.

Beanie never came home.

I lost so much blood that I was unconscious for three days.

When I came to, David was sitting at the edge of my hospital bed. His eyes were rimmed red.

"Where's the baby?"

He didn't answer.

"David, where's the baby?!"

He pulled me into his arms, his voice trembling.

"Ellie, please don't be upset..."

I lost it. I tried to get out of bed, tried to get to the delivery room.

He held me down by the shoulders, saying sorry over and over.

Then the nurses came. The doctors came. Every single one of them told me the same thing: the baby was gone.

Too small. They couldn't save him.

I didn't believe them.

I begged them to let me see him, just once.

No one would let me.

David said he'd already taken care of everything.

"Don't think about it anymore. It's not good for your recovery."

I spent the next year trapped in postpartum depression.

He stayed by my side every single day. He even handed the company over to a professional manager just to take care of me.

Everyone said he was a wonderful husband.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Shen Yi.

That woman's name is Corinne Henson. Don't do anything yet. Give me three days to dig up the full picture.

I deleted the message and looked up.

David was sitting across from me, watching.

"What's wrong? Doesn't taste good?"

"It's fine."

That evening, a friend request popped up on my phone.

The note read: Mr. Delgado's assistant... Corinne Henson.

The verification message said: Ms. Pruitt, I'm Mr. Delgado's new assistant. I may need to coordinate some work-related matters with you.

I stared at the name for a long time.

I accepted the request, then opened her social media feed.

March 27th. The day I'd had my prenatal checkup. David said he had an important meeting and showed up two hours late.

A photo of a coffee cup, captioned: The boss was in a great mood today. Bought coffee for the whole office.

In the corner of the photo, a pair of cufflinks glinted on a man's wrist. The same cufflinks I'd given David for his birthday three years ago.

February 21st. My birthday. David said he had a client dinner. I reheated his food three times before finally scraping it into the trash.

A photo of a bouquet of flowers, captioned: Someone said work is too exhausting. You have to be kind to yourself.

Corinne reached out, saying she wanted to learn about Mr. Delgado's personal preferences so she could better manage his daily schedule. She suggested we meet at a coffee shop.

When I pushed open the door, a woman in a white knit sweater smiled at me.

The smile was soft. The eyes were razor-sharp.

It was her.

The white dress had been swapped for a white sweater, but I recognized that face.

"Ellie! Over here, sit down."

Her smile was sweet. Her voice was sweeter.

"Thank you for coming." She lowered her gaze and stirred her coffee. "I just started at the company, so there's a lot I don't know yet. I was hoping you could help me understand Mr. Delgado's dietary preferences."

"He doesn't eat cilantro or scallions," I said, lifting my cup.

"Right, right, I knew that." She covered her mouth with a little laugh. "He also won't touch carrots. Apparently he was forced to eat them as a kid, and now he makes a face whenever he sees one."

She knew. She knew everything.

I set my cup down.

"Assistant Henson, you didn't invite me here just to ask about that."

Her smile faltered for a second, then stretched wider.

"You really are sharp, Ellie."

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. The mask came off.

"I'll just say it, then."

"Ellie, don't you think whatever you and Mr. Delgado have... has run its course?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." She tilted her head. "There's no love left between you two. Instead of dragging it out, why not let go while you still have some dignity?"

"You're telling me to get a divorce?"

"I'm offering you a way out." She corrected me with a smile. "No job, no children, nothing to contribute to his life. What's the point of holding on?"