That sentence became important later.
At the time, I thought she was simply being cautious.
I had no idea how many things were already being hidden.
Rebecca arranged for me to retrieve personal belongings from the house two days later.
Grant was not supposed to be there.
Talia definitely was not supposed to be there.
Delaney came with me.
When we arrived, Grant’s truck was gone.
The house looked exactly as it always had from the outside.
That almost made it worse.
Inside, I stopped in the entryway.
My shoes were gone.
My coat hooks were empty.
A decorative bowl I had bought on our fifth anniversary still sat on the table.
The framed wedding photograph above it had been removed.
Delaney saw the empty space too.
She didn’t say anything.
I went upstairs.
Our bedroom looked unfamiliar.
Not because my things were gone.
Because Talia’s were there.
A cosmetic bag sat beside the bathroom sink.
A pale blue cardigan hung over the chair.
And on Grant’s nightstand was a glass of water beside a bottle of perfume I had seen Talia wear at the Richmond charity dinner.
Delaney swore under her breath.
I stood still.
“Four days.”
“What?”
“He threw me out four days ago.”
Delaney stared at the perfume.
“She was probably already here before that.”
I didn’t want to believe it.
Then we entered the nursery.
The crib was still there.
The cream walls.
The small wooden shelf Grant had installed.
The stuffed fox Delaney bought when I was five months pregnant.
Everything was untouched.
I walked toward the crib.
On the dresser sat the ultrasound photograph Grant had once kept in his wallet.
I picked it up.
He had left it behind.
That was when I cried.
Not loudly.
I simply sat in the nursery chair with the photograph in my hand while tears ran down my face.
Delaney crouched beside me.
“He doesn’t get to decide what the truth is.”
“I don’t understand him.”
“You may never.”
“I need to.”
“No, Maren.”
She waited until I looked at her.
“You need to understand what happened. That’s different from needing to understand him.”
Before we left, I went into the small home office.
Most of my documents were gone because I kept them in a filing cabinet Grant had emptied into one of the boxes.
But my old tablet was still in a drawer.
I almost left it.
Then I remembered something.
Our house security account had originally been created using my email.
The system had a camera above the garage and another facing the back patio.
Grant usually managed everything through his phone, but my tablet still had the application installed.
I opened it.
The account logged in automatically.
Delaney looked over my shoulder.
“Can you see old footage?”
“Maybe.”
We sat at the desk.
The system stored short motion clips.
I scrolled backward.
There were hundreds.
Delivery drivers.
Grant leaving for work.
Me watering plants.
Neighborhood children running through the edge of the driveway.
Then I saw Talia.
Three weeks before Grant changed the locks.
She walked into our house at 11:43 on a Tuesday morning.
Grant wasn’t home.
Neither was I.
She used a key.
I stared at the screen.
Delaney leaned closer.
“Play it again.”
I did.
Talia approached the side door.
Unlocked it.
Went inside.
Forty-seven minutes later, another clip showed her leaving.
“What was she doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Grant give her a key?”
“I don’t know.”
I searched earlier dates.
There she was again.
Two weeks before that.
This time she arrived while Grant’s truck was in the driveway.
That proved nothing beyond what I already suspected.
Then I found another date.
Seven weeks earlier.
Three days before Grant first questioned me about Elliot.
Talia entered the house at 1:18 in the afternoon.
Alone.
She stayed twenty-six minutes.
When she left, she was carrying something.
I paused the recording.
It looked like a folder.
A white folder.
My heart began pounding.
“I keep work files in here sometimes.”
Delaney looked toward the desk.
“What kind?”
“Nothing confidential. Printed schedules. Draft notes. Project handouts.”
“Anything involving Elliot?”
I thought.
Then remembered.
The Richmond presentation.
Two weeks before the event, Elliot had given me a folder containing our schedule, hotel conference information, and team assignments.
I had brought it home.
It was white.
Delaney looked at me.
“That’s not coincidence anymore.”
Rebecca agreed.
By Monday, she had sent Grant’s attorney a request that relevant electronic records and security footage be preserved.
Grant called me that evening.
It was the first time I had heard his voice since he locked me out.
“Maren.”
I nearly hung up.
Instead I said, “What?”
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
“My lawyer says you’re asking for security records.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I thought of Talia walking into our house with my folder.
“Because I want to know who had access to our home.”
Silence.
Then Grant said, “Talia had permission.”
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“Seven weeks ago?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She was helping with something.”
“What?”
“It involved work.”
“Then why did she leave carrying a folder from our home office?”
Grant said nothing.
I closed my eyes.
“You didn’t know she did that.”
“Maren—”
“You didn’t know.”
“She probably had a reason.”
I almost laughed.
“A reason to go through my office?”
“You’re making this into something it isn’t.”
“No, Grant. That’s what you did.”
His voice sharpened.
“You think I just woke up and decided not to trust you?”
“I think someone worked very hard to make sure you didn’t.”
There was another silence.
Longer this time.
“What are you talking about?”
I nearly told him everything.
Talia’s father.
The internship.
The hallway.
Instead I remembered Rebecca’s advice.
Protect your ability to find the truth.
“Ask Talia where she was on October eighteenth.”
Grant exhaled.
“I’m not playing games.”
“Neither am I.”
“Maren, I saw things.”
My heart jumped.
“What things?”
“You know what.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Messages.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What messages?”
“Between you and Elliot.”
I went completely still.
“There are no messages between Elliot and me that you haven’t already seen.”
“I saw enough.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not doing this again.”
“Grant, if you have messages showing that I had an affair, show them to me.”
“You’ll just say they’re fake.”
That sentence told me everything.
I whispered, “Who gave them to you?”
Grant hung up.
The following morning, I went to work.
It was the first day I had returned since being thrown out.
I had told my supervisor, Caroline, that I was dealing with a family emergency.
I had not told her details.
By ten o’clock, she called me into her office.
Elliot was already there.
He looked uncomfortable.
Caroline closed the door.
“We received an anonymous complaint.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“About what?”
Caroline hesitated.
“About you and Elliot.”
Elliot looked at me.
I stared at him.
“What does it say?”
Caroline turned her monitor.
The complaint accused Elliot and me of having an inappropriate personal relationship that supposedly influenced project assignments.
It included photographs.
The same Richmond conference picture.
A picture from the office baby shower.
Another from a client dinner.
Every image had been cropped to make us appear alone.
Then came screenshots.
Messages supposedly between Elliot and me.
Can’t wait until we get another night away.
Grant almost noticed last time.
Meet me at the same place.
I felt sick.
“These are fake.”
Elliot leaned forward.
