That night, while Derek slept, snoring softly under a film of sweat, I sat cross-legged on the nursery floor with one twin curled into my shoulder and the other dozing in the crib. The room smelled like baby lotion and fabric softener, warm, soft things that didn’t deserve the shadow creeping in.
I didn’t want to be the woman who checked her husband’s phone. But I didn’t want to be the fool, either.
But my instincts didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.
When the twins finally drifted into that deep, syncopated sleep, I walked into the guest room, lifted Derek’s phone, and sat in the laundry room with the door closed behind me.
I opened Photos. Then Hidden albums.
The first image nearly sent the phone flying from my hands: Derek, white robe, a glass of champagne, and a stupid grin on his face.
The next hit harder: Kelsey, in an identical robe, her hand resting on his chest.
And another: my husband’s mouth on my stepsister’s neck.
… her hand resting on his chest.
I stared until I couldn’t breathe.
And for the first time in weeks, I realized what betrayal actually looked like.
But this was more than that. It was an infection, literal and figurative, brought into our home under the mask of “stress.”
Derek had let me tend to him. He’d asked me to rub lotion onto the same skin that had been wrapped around my stepsister. He let me shield our children while he brought the danger in.
I realized what betrayal actually looked like.
I should have packed my twins and stayed at a hotel. I should have kept them safe and left Derek to fend for himself. I should have been… braver.
Still, I didn’t confront him.
The next morning, I handed him a mug of tea like I hadn’t seen anything at all.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, opening the windows absently.
“Better,” he said. “So much better, Leigh. I think I’m healing.”
I didn’t confront him.
“That’s good, babe,” I said, nodding.
He smiled like I had forgiven him for something he hadn’t realized I knew.
I picked up my phone and texted my stepdad.
“Let’s do dinner this weekend. I’m sure Kelsey’s feeling better? I’ll host. I need grown-up conversation and not lullabies.”
He replied immediately:
“Yes! We’re in. Kelsey’s perfectly fine and back on her feet. She went to the gym today. Mom and I can’t wait to see the babies. We bought the cutest onesies.”
“Kelsey’s perfectly fine and back on her feet.”
Saturday arrived, and the house smelled like roast chicken and thyme. I baked fresh rolls and made pumpkin pie from scratch. I was exhausted, but I needed to keep myself busy. The table was dressed with a runner and a flickering candle.
It was the kind of scene that said, “We’re doing fine, thank you. We’re a normal family.”
Kelsey was the first to arrive. She wore too much foundation, and her laugh was too high, like someone auditioning for innocence.
“We’re doing fine, thank you. We’re a normal family.”
Derek’s eyes barely met hers. But the glance was there, just a flicker. Just enough for me to notice.
My parents arrived next. Kevin poured the cider, and my mom pulled me aside.
“You sure you’re up for this, Leigh?” she asked. “You look so tired, love.”
“I am tired, Mom,” I admitted. “But I wanted tonight to feel like… something normal. Just for a little while.”
But the glance was there, just a flicker.
“You’re a good mom, Leigh,” she said, resting her hand on my arm. “And you’re doing more than most could, especially with an ill husband to care for.”
Something in her voice trembled, and I wondered, just for a moment, if she’d already started to guess.
We ate in a slow rhythm, passing dishes between bites of casual conversation. The conversation drifted from cold season remedies to how outrageously expensive diapers had become.
Something in her voice trembled…
Read more: The family dinner turns into the moment of truth.
👉 Continue reading on the next page to see how Leigh exposes them.
