Chapter 3 - MY LITTLE ONERyan had first entered our lives eighteen months earlier.
Claire introduced him at a charity dinner.
She said he specialized in protecting family assets.
He was younger than most of the advisers I knew, but he was polished, confident, and careful with his words.
I remembered shaking his hand.
I remembered inviting him to dinner.
I remembered him standing in our kitchen while Claire poured wine.
Now he was in my bedroom.
I held my phone close to the door.
Inside, Ryan’s footsteps moved toward the large mirror.
“I still can’t believe it,” he said.
“Believe what?”
“That we’re this close.”
Claire laughed softly.
Then Ryan’s voice changed.
It became tender.
“My little one.”
My stomach turned.
Through the narrow space beneath the door, I saw his shadow bend.
He was touching her belly.
Perhaps kissing it.
The same belly I kissed every night.
The same child I spoke to when Claire was asleep.
I pressed my fist against my mouth.
Anger came first.
Then humiliation.
Then something worse.
Grief.
I was grieving a child who had not even been born.
Inside, Claire suddenly inhaled.
“The baby moved.”
“For me?”
“Maybe.”
Ryan laughed.
The sound made my vision blur.
I forced myself to look down at the recording timer on my phone.
Two minutes and eleven seconds.
Evidence.
That word kept me from opening the door.
Evidence would matter after emotion had finished destroying everything.
“You should leave,” Claire said.
“Why? Daniel isn’t returning until tomorrow night.”
“He changed his schedule once before.”
“You told me he was in San Francisco.”
“He is.”
Ryan moved toward the door.
I stepped back quickly.
My heel crushed one of the roses.
The stem snapped.
Inside, the handle turned once.
The lock prevented the door from opening.
Ryan muttered, “Why did you lock this?”
“Because the staff sometimes comes in without knocking.”
He released the handle.
I moved silently toward the dark alcove opposite the bedroom.
From there, I could see the door without being seen immediately.
I had only a few seconds to decide what kind of man I would become.
The wounded husband who attacked them?
Or the father who discovered the whole truth?
I chose the second.
Not because it was easier.
Because it was harder.
I opened the home-security application on my phone.
The hallway camera was active.
The bedroom camera had been disabled three weeks earlier at Claire’s request.
She had said she wanted privacy during pregnancy.
But another device remained connected.
The smart mirror.
Its status showed a small green symbol.
Recording buffer available.
I stared at it.
Claire thought the mirror was only a wellness display.
She did not know the installer had linked its diagnostic recordings to our private home server.
I tapped the screen.
May you like
The application requested my administrator password.
Before I could enter it, the bedroom door unlocked.
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