After My Husband Trusted His Mistress With Our Child

The fabricated stalker came through Kassidy's desk phone on a Tuesday morning. I heard about it third-hand, from the admin who processed the incident report Ryan filed personally. Someone leaving notes on her windshield. Someone following her home from the precinct. The handwriting analysis request sat in the system for forty-eight hours before Webb pulled it and ran it himself.

I didn't know that part until much later. What I knew then was that Ryan came home after midnight two nights in a row, smelling like coffee and the particular exhaustion of a stakeout that goes nowhere.

"Kassidy okay?" I asked, because a wife asks.

"Getting there." He dropped his keys in the dish by the door. "Had to sweep her building. Make sure the locks were solid."

I nodded and went back to the case file I'd been reading on the couch. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice I'd learned not to listen to whispered that checking locks took twenty minutes, not six hours. I turned the page. The voice went quiet.

The next morning, I saw Marcus Webb in the precinct lobby when I dropped off Ryan's badge — he'd left it on the kitchen counter, which he never did. Webb looked at me the way you look at someone at a funeral when you don't know what to say that won't make it worse.

"Mrs. Marshall."

"Detective Webb."

He took the badge. He didn't let go of it right away. "Ryan mention the Kassidy situation to you?"

"He said someone's been following her."

Webb's jaw worked to one side. "Yeah. That's what he said."

He handed me back the badge instead of taking it. "You should give this to him yourself. He's upstairs."

I didn't ask why. I just took the elevator up, found Ryan at his desk buried in surveillance photos, and set the badge down without a word. He looked up, surprised I was there, then saw what I'd brought.

"Thanks," he said. "I don't know how I—"

"You were tired." I smoothed the corner of a photo that had curled up on his desk, aligning it with the others. "It happens."

I left before he could say anything else. On my way out, I passed Webb's desk. He was staring at his computer screen, but I could tell he wasn't reading it. He was deciding something. Whatever it was, he didn't say it out loud. Not then.

*

The call came on a Thursday.

I was in court — a pretrial hearing for the Hargrove custody case, Maximilian at the table beside me, his notes organized in that way he had where everything lined up without him having to think about it. My phone buzzed once in my bag. I ignored it. It buzzed again. Then a third time.

Maximilian glanced at me. I pulled it out, checked the screen. Ryan. I declined the call. Two minutes later, a text: *Need a favor. Can Kassidy pick up Wrenlee today? I'm stuck on the Delmar case and can't get out in time.*

I stared at the message. The judge was still talking. Maximilian was taking notes in the margin of his file. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, which was strange, because my heart had been so quiet for so long.

I typed back: *I'll call the firm. Someone can cover.*

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

*Everyone's slammed. Kassidy's off-duty and she's close to the school. Just this once.*

I looked at the screen until the letters stopped meaning anything. Then I typed: *Fine.*

I didn't add anything else. I put the phone back in my bag. My hands were steady. Maximilian leaned over slightly, voice low enough the judge wouldn't hear.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes." I picked up my pen. "Just a scheduling issue."

He looked at me a moment longer than necessary, the way he did when he was reading something I wasn't saying. Then he nodded and went back to his notes. I wrote three lines in the margin of my file. I don't remember what they said.

When court adjourned, I checked my phone. One message from Ryan: *Thanks. I owe you.*

I didn't respond. I walked out of the courthouse into the October cold and stood on the steps for a moment, looking at nothing. Maximilian came out behind me, briefcase in one hand, the other holding his coat closed against the wind.

"You want to go over the cross-examination prep now, or would tomorrow be better?"

I turned to look at him. He wasn't asking about the cross-examination. He was asking if I was all right. He just knew better than to ask it directly.

"Tomorrow," I said.

He nodded. "I'll see you at nine."

He walked toward the subway. I walked toward my car. Somewhere across the city, Kassidy Greene was picking up my daughter from school. And I had said yes. I had typed the word *fine* and hit send, and now it was done.

I sat in the driver's seat for five minutes before I started the engine. My hands were still steady. That was the worst part. They were always steady now.