Ethan smiled weakly.
Then disappeared upstairs.
The television started a minute later.
Cartoon voices filled the second floor.
Marcus waited until he heard them.
Then turned.
Claire was crying.
He felt no urge to comfort her.
“What happened?”
She whispered:
“Let me start from the beginning.”
“Good idea.”
“It’s not what Ethan thinks.”
“Did Daniel spend nights here?”
“Yes.”
“In your bedroom?”
Claire closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Marcus nodded slowly.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“Marcus.”
“Try.”
She wiped her face.
“Six.”
His jaw tightened.
“Six nights?”
“Yes.”
“In the last three weeks?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
Marcus took two steps backward.
Eight months.
He tried to understand how many business trips that contained.
Phoenix.
Chicago twice.
Seattle.
Denver.
New York.
A supplier visit in Michigan.
Two nights in Mexico City.
He had called home from airports.
Hotel rooms.
Rented cars.
He had watched Claire kiss the screen.
Had listened to Ethan describe school.
Had told them he loved them.
Sometimes Daniel had been inside the same house.
Marcus asked:
“How long have you been sleeping with him?”
Claire’s answer came so softly he almost missed it.
“Not eight months.”
He stared.
“What does that mean?”
She looked away.
“We didn’t…”
“Don’t make me drag nouns out of you.”
Claire flinched.
“We weren’t having an affair the whole time.”
“The whole time.”
Marcus laughed again.
“So there was an affair.”
She looked toward him.
“I made a mistake.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“A mistake is missing an exit.”
“Buying the wrong milk.”
“Sending an email to the wrong person.”
“How many times?”
Claire said nothing.
“How many times did you sleep with him?”
“Marcus…”
“How many?”
“Three.”
The room went quiet.
He nodded.
“Three.”
Her voice cracked.
“It happened after we found out.”
He froze.
“Found out what?”
Claire stared at him.
For the first time since Ethan’s sentence, Marcus saw something beyond fear in her expression.
There was another layer.
One she had been avoiding even more than the affair.
Marcus felt it.
His body seemed to know before his mind did.
He looked toward the toy car.
Then toward the ceiling where his son sat watching television.
“What did you find out?”
Claire whispered:
“I need you to sit down.”
Marcus’s voice sharpened.
“No.”
“Marcus.”
“What did you find out?”
She cried harder.
“I didn’t know for sure before.”
The words made no sense.
Then they did.
Marcus felt the blood leave his face.
“No.”
Claire covered her mouth.
He stared.
“No.”
She stepped toward him.
Marcus stepped back.
“Don’t.”
“Marcus.”
“No.”
He pointed toward the stairs.
“That is my son.”
“I know.”
“What did you find out?”
Claire could barely speak.