I arrived early at my sister’s house to get her surprise party ready, and I found the most disgusting scene of my life: her husband with her best friend in the bathtub. “Please don’t say anything,” he whispered to me. But I didn’t make a scene. I locked the door from the outside and dialed two numbers: my sister’s and that woman’s husband’s. When they arrived, all hell broke loose.

Bridget started to greet me with a bright, curious smile, but her expression collapsed the second she processed the grim look on my face. Troy looked equally panicked, still gripping his leather briefcase and looking as though he had rushed straight from a meeting.

“Holly, what is going on? Is someone hurt?” Bridget asked as she stepped into the foyer.

Instead of offering a verbal explanation that they might try to rationalize, I gestured for them to follow me up the stairs. I wanted them to witness the truth before Garrett had a chance to manufacture a pathetic excuse or Mallory could prepare a sob story.

As we reached the landing, the sound of Garrett shouting my name from behind the locked door became unmistakable. Bridget turned deathly pale, her eyes darting between me and the wood paneling as the realization began to sink in.

I pulled the key from my pocket and held it out to her with a detached coldness that surprised even me. “You should be the one to open it,” I said quietly.