For a second I genuinely thought I might throw up. Instead, I zoomed in until the pixels broke apart.
Same oval stone. Same delicate silver setting. Same tiny asymmetry on the left side of the chain where the jeweler had shown me a sample on his website when I was researching anniversary gifts I never ended up buying.
He hadn’t returned it.
He had moved it.
I closed the laptop and sat with both palms flat on the rug while the baby rolled inside me like she was trying to reposition herself under stress.
That image did something the statements hadn’t.
Numbers told me my husband was cheating.
The necklace told me he had lied to my face, casually, while deciding another woman should wear what he pretended had never belonged to anyone.
I emailed Doug back in three words.
Find out her name.
He replied twelve minutes later.
Already on it.
The next morning, Nathan left for work in a navy overcoat and kissed the top of my head while I stood at the stove pretending to scramble eggs.
“You okay?” he asked. “You seem tired.”
I looked at his reflection in the microwave door. Crisp shirt. Smooth jaw. Not a crease out of place.
“Just not sleeping great.”
He touched my shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
We.