Chapter 3 - The Girl Who Knew My Bedroom
I did not confront him that night.
People imagine betrayal demands immediate rage.
Mine demanded patience.
The next morning, I called in sick.
Then I drove back to the supermarket.
The blonde woman worked nearby.
I knew because she left the bakery carrying an employee discount card from a boutique across the parking lot.
Her name tag read:
Sophie Lane.
I waited until she was alone.
“Excuse me.”
She recognized me immediately.
Her hand rose toward the sapphire.
“You.”
“Yes.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Is this about yesterday?”
“It’s about my necklace.”
She went pale.
“What?”
“The one around your neck.”
Sophie touched it.
Then slowly removed the chain.
“I didn’t steal this.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
A beat.
“Who gave it to you?”
She stared at me.
“Julian.”
There it was.
The clean answer.
The expected one.
It still felt wrong.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“Because he said it belonged to his mother.”
My anger paused.
“My husband told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you in my bedroom?”
Sophie looked confused.
“I wasn’t.”
“My son saw you.”
“I’ve been inside your house, but not like that.”
“Then how?”
She took a step closer.
“Julian hired me.”
“For what?”
“To photograph things.”
My skin prickled.
“What things?”
“Your bedroom. Your closet. Your medicine cabinet. Your jewelry.”
I stared at her.
She continued quickly.
“He said you were having memory problems.”
“What?”
“He said you were hiding things and accusing him of moving them. That your doctor was worried.”
My heart began pounding.
“I’m a pediatric nurse practitioner. I do not have memory problems.”
Sophie looked horrified.
“He told me you might.”
“What else did you photograph?”
“Documents. Your laptop screen once. Prescription bottles.”
“Why?”
“He paid me.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred each visit.”
I almost laughed.
My husband was paying a twenty-three-year-old stranger to secretly document my belongings.
That was worse than an affair.
Or potentially much worse.
Sophie handed me the necklace.
“I thought it was a gift.”
I closed my fingers around it.
“Why did Julian delete security footage?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still have the photos?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
She pulled out her phone.
There were hundreds.
My bedroom.
My closet.
My hospital schedule.
My passport.
A copy of Leo’s birth certificate.
Then one photograph made me sit down.
A document photographed on Julian’s desk.
Petition for temporary emergency custody.
Petitioner:
Julian Harper.
Respondent:
Emily Harper.
Supporting concern:
Possible cognitive instability and unsafe parenting behavior.
The filing wasn’t submitted.
Yet.
May you like
And attached beneath it was a letter supposedly written by my psychiatrist.
I didn’t have a psychiatrist.
