I smiled, small and careful, and tucked the phone back into my purse. My voice came out even, too even.
“Should we head home, guys?”
Olive muttered at me and divided, as if on cue.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Nancy said.
That night, after Olive dozed off with her stuffed dolphin tucked under one arm, I entered our walk-in closet and closed the door behind me.
I sat cross-legged on the carpet, the smell of fabric softener still clinging to the sleeves of Spencer’s sweaters stacked neatly above me.
I opened the family laptop that I’d brought in with me and began digging.
Spencer had always been careless with his digital footprint, never quite clearing his history or removing passwords.
The Gmail account had been there all along, auto-saved on our laptop. Spencer must’ve forgotten, or maybe he’d gotten so confident that he stopped caring.
The inbox was a mess of labels and archives… but the evidence wasn’t even buried. It was just… sitting there.
Moments later, I came across a full archive of messages, some deleted, others merely hidden beneath innocent subject lines. There were dozens of pictures.
There were pictures of Spencer and Nancy, my husband and best friend.
And then there was sweet little Connor.
He appeared in more photos than predicted, riding on Spencer’s shoulders, holding his hand, asleep on his chest. Moments that seemed so normal, so concerned, it made my stomach turn.
Connor was born eight months after Olive.
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