I tucked the blanket under Toby’s chin and listened to Greg’s shower running down the hall. Expensive detergent. Not smoke. Not pine.
Downstairs, I braced my shaking hands against the counter.
I would not ask him tonight.
Where had he been sleeping?
The image arrived before I could stop it. Vanessa at Sunday brunch, laughing with Greg, the two of them sharing that quick look I’d pretended not to notice.
If he’d met her first, would he have chosen me?
I heard the shower shut off upstairs. I stared at the ceiling and something cold and quiet slid into place inside my chest.
“Best weekend yet.”
I would not ask him tonight. I would not scream or hand him the chance to explain his way out. I wanted proof.
Greg came downstairs in a fresh T-shirt, hair damp, smiling like a man with nothing to hide.
“Hey. He go down okay?”
