He accepted this completely and wandered inside, asking for a snack.
I stood in the driveway for one extra moment, my hand on the car door, and breathed.
Then I went inside and made my son an apple and peanut butter and waited for Colin to come home.
He came home at 4:30.
He walked in with the specific, careful energy of someone who has had several hours to construct a version of events.
He kissed my cheek, asked how Dylan and I had spent the afternoon, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter.
I watched him.
I said we had stayed home. Quiet afternoon. Nothing special.
He nodded, relieved.
Just barely.
Just enough that I caught it.
“How was the showing?” I asked.
“Good,” he said. “Clients are interested. Might move forward next week.”
He held my gaze steadily when he said it.
I held his right back.
“That’s great,” I said.
And I went back to making dinner.
That night, after Dylan was asleep and Colin was in the living room watching television, I went to her bedroom, closed the door, and called my best friend, Sandra.
Sandra Pierce had been my closest friend since college.
She was a straight talking, deeply loyal woman who had seen me through every significant moment of my adult life and had never once told me what I wanted to hear when what I needed to hear was something different.
I told her everything.
The car outside Natalie’s house. The spare key. What I had found inside. Dylan asleep on my shoulder through all of it.
Sandra was quiet for a long moment after I finished.
Then she said, “Rebecca, what do you need right now?”
Not “I told you so.”
Not “What are you going to do?”
Just: “What do you need?”
“I need to think clearly,” I said. “And I need someone to help me do that.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m here. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
What I was thinking was this.
I did not know how long this had been happening.
I did not know what it meant for my marriage, for my son, for the life we had built in that house.
I did not know what Colin’s intentions were, whether this was something he planned to end or something he planned to continue indefinitely while I remained unaware.