Chapter 2

When Julian returned from his trip, he brought a box of lavender-lemon tarts and tossed his briefcase onto the black console table in the entryway.

The exact same spot it had occupied for the past three years.

He had no idea that the manila envelope had been touched.

"Try one. I stood in line for half an hour."

I took a bite. The lavender sweetness clung to my tongue, thick and artificial.

"Good?"

"Yeah. Delicious."

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. His lips were dry, carrying the stale smell of airplane air conditioning.

"I missed you."

"Me too."

He cooked dinner himself that night—pasta with fresh tomato sauce and garlic bread. Wearing an apron, he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.

"Is the salt okay?"

"It's perfect."

"Go ahead and plate yours. I'll toss the salad."

While he was busy at the stove, I sat at the table and watched his back. He was the picture-perfect husband—broad shoulders, fit, occasionally turning to smile at me.

If I knew nothing, this scene would have made me feel completely safe.

While he was showering, I picked up his phone. The passcode was my birthday. He had never changed it.

His call log was as clean as a blank sheet of paper. His recent contacts were just me, his mom, Zach, and his project manager.

His Snapchat was even cleaner. No suspicious contacts, no hidden chats. I was pinned at the top. The second was his family group.

His camera roll was filled with photos of us. A selfie from my last birthday, the New Year's fireworks downtown, a candid shot he took of me cooking last month.

It was too clean.

A normal person’s phone always had some clutter—random screenshots, package tracking codes, temporary work files. Even a phone bought ten years ago wouldn't be this spotless.

His phone was like a beautifully edited annual corporate report—every piece of data was in the right place, every detail designed to pass inspection.

A forensic auditor indeed. His counter-surveillance skills were top-tier.

I put the phone back.

When he came out, his hair was still damp. He sat down right next to me.

"What show are we watching tonight?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Let me find something then. We can watch together."

"Whatever you want."

He flipped through a few channels and stopped on a reality show. He leaned his shoulder against mine, his hand resting on my knee, his thumb tracing absentminded circles.

His mother’s FaceTime call came in right at 8:30 PM. Julian put it on speaker.

"You're back? Was the flight exhausting?"

"It was fine. Just a three-hour flight."

A three-hour flight. He had told me he was going to Seattle—Seattle was a five-hour flight from here.

"Is Chloe there?"

"I'm here, Eleanor," I said, leaning closer to the screen.

"Chloe, sweetheart, I wanted to ask you something. Have you and Julian... started trying for a baby? You’ve been married for three years now. Arthur's health hasn't been great lately. He won't admit it, but he really wants a grandbaby."

Julian cut in. "Mom, we have a plan. Don't rush us."

"What plan? Give me a timeline."

"Next year. We’ll start seriously trying next year."

Next year.

He said "next year" to his mother and me, while his three-year-old child was already drawing family portraits at preschool.

"Really? Chloe, did you hear that?"

"I heard, Eleanor."

After hanging up, Julian wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "My mom is getting impatient."

"Yeah."

"When do you want to have kids?"

I looked into his eyes. They were warm, focused, and incredibly gentle. But those same eyes had watched another little boy take his first steps.

"I'm not in a rush."

"Then we won't rush." He squeezed my shoulder. "We have all the time in the world anyway."

Before bed, I walked to the bathroom. I passed his open suitcase.

A flash of pink caught my eye in the side pocket.

The strawberry toothpaste. It was about a third gone. There was a tiny bite mark on the tube, like it had been chewed on by a toddler.

I picked it up, stared at it for a few seconds, and put it back.

When I got into bed, Julian's eyes were already closed.

"Julian."

"Hmm?"

"Next time you travel, remember to pack your own toothpaste. Don't buy a new one every time."

"Yeah... I always forget."

"The strawberry one. You hate the hotel stuff."

"Right... you have such a good memory."

He rolled over, his breathing evening out.

I turned my head to look at him in the dark. A thirty-two-year-old man, handsome, with a slight, habitual smile even in his sleep.

This was the mouth that told me to eat well, sleep early, and stay warm.

It was also the mouth that taught another child to call him "Daddy."

I silently added to my Notes app. *Audit Finding 3: The auditee’s phone is excessively clean, which is inconsistent with normal usage. Suspected systematic data wiping. High counter-surveillance awareness.*

In his sleep, he reached out and draped his arm over my waist.

"Chloe..."

"Yeah. I'm here."