Chapter 6

"No, they're not mine."

The moment the words left my mouth, I froze.

Eleanor gave an awkward laugh. "Oh, maybe a friend left them here."

"Maybe."

I saw her out, then crouched in front of the shoe rack.

The soles of the shoes were very clean, barely worn.

On the inner label, there was a small set of initials written in black Sharpie: S.O.

Sammy.

She had been in this house. While I was away.

I took a picture of the shoes and saved it. Then I put them back exactly where they were, not moving them even a millimeter.

That evening, Leo came home while I was cooking.

He changed his shoes and walked into the kitchen, standing behind me.

"My mom came by today?"

"Yeah. She brought some steaks."

"What did she say?"

"She asked when we're having kids."

He was quiet for a couple of seconds before sitting down at the dining table.

As I brought the food out, I casually remarked, "There's a pair of white sneakers on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack. Size 6. They aren't mine."

"Check if one of your female colleagues left them behind."

He was pouring water. His hand shook, spilling some onto the counter.

"Oh... we had a team dinner here last time. Someone probably forgot them."

"You had a team dinner at our place?"

"Just once. You were working late that night."

I didn’t recall ever working so late that I didn't come home.

My job never required overtime, and Leo knew that.

But I didn't call him out.

I sat down and took a bite of my food, chewing slowly.

He sat opposite me, not touching his plate.

"Liz."

"Yeah?"

"Lately... have you been looking for reasons to find fault with me?"

I looked up at him.

"I’m not looking for them, Leo. They are just showing up on their own."

His throat bobbed.

"I’ll throw those shoes away tomorrow."

"No need," I said, looking back down at my food.

"Like I said, they aren't mine. They have nothing to do with me."

After dinner, he retreated to the guest room again.

I waited until the door closed, then opened my phone.

I opened my hidden folder: the photo from the conference room door, the passenger seat, the Instagram screenshot Harper sent me, the text message from Sammy, and the photo of the size 6 sneakers.

One by one, sorted by date, saved in an encrypted album.

Then, I dialed a number.

"Hello, is this Attorney Vance? I’d like to schedule a consultation regarding filing for divorce."