I Took Off My Bandages And Saw My Husband Kiss My Best‑Friend

The song followed me to bed that night.

I lay next to Liam and listened to him snore. Off-key, even in his sleep.

By morning, I'd made up my mind. Nobody was going to hand me the truth. I'd have to go get it myself.

---

"Babe, have you seen my hand cream?"

Liam stood at the bathroom sink, holding up an empty tube. Citrus and sandalwood. Forty dollars a bottle. He'd been using the same brand since we met.

"Under the sink," I said.

He crouched, found it, and rubbed a dot between his palms. The sharp orange smell filled the room.

In the hospital, the hands that held mine had smelled like oatmeal. Plain. Cheap. The kind of drugstore cream you buy for cracked skin, not for show.

"Did you ever switch brands?" I asked. "While I was in the hospital?"

He laughed into the mirror. "Why would I switch? This stuff is perfect."

"No reason."

I leaned on the doorframe and watched him knot his tie. "Do you remember the night I told you about Grandma June?"

His fingers paused on the silk. "Grandma June?"

"The night I couldn't stop crying. I told you I never visited her at the end. That I was too scared to see her sick. I said I'd never forgiven myself."

He met my eyes in the mirror. Something flickered there. Then he smiled.

"Sure. Yeah. Of course I remember."

"What did you say back?"

"Wren, it's seven in the morning."

"What did you say back, Liam?"

He turned around. His smile stayed, but his eyes went flat. "I said it wasn't your fault. Isn't that what anyone would say?"

It wasn't what the voice had said.

The voice had said, *Fear isn't the same thing as not loving someone. She knew. Trust me, she knew.* Then it told me about the father who'd died while the boy was away at summer camp. How he still dreamed about the phone ringing.

Liam's father was alive. He lived in Arizona and golfed four days a week.

"Right," I said. "That's what you said."

He kissed my forehead on his way out. The citrus burned my nose.

---

St. Augustine's records office sat on the basement level, next to the laundry. The clerk had glasses on a beaded chain and a name tag that said DOLORES.

"Visitor logs for the fourth floor," I said. "Room 412. The six weeks I was a patient."

She typed. Frowned. Typed again.

"Mrs. Brennan, there's a note on your file."

"What kind of note?"

"Your husband called this morning." She turned the screen so I couldn't see it. "He asked that no records be released without his written consent. He said you've been experiencing some confusion after your surgery."

My face went hot. "I'm the patient. I don't need his consent."

"Technically, no." Dolores folded her hands. "But he said you might come in. And he said if you did, I should call him."

"Did you?"

She looked at the phone on her desk. Then back at me. "Not yet."

"Please don't."

"Honey, I've worked here twenty-two years. I know what a man sounds like when he's scared." She lowered her voice. "Visitor logs are paper on the fourth floor. Ask for the night charge nurse. Tessa. She'll be on in an hour."

---

I waited in the cafeteria and drank coffee I didn't taste.

My phone buzzed at 6:40. *Liam*.

"Hey, babe. Where are you?"

"Out."

"Out where? I came home early. Thought we could get dinner."

"You never come home early."

A pause. Too long. "I'm trying to be better. Isn't that what you want?"

"I'm at the pharmacy," I said.

"Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"I'll pick you up."

"I'll take a cab."

I hung up before he could answer. My hands were wet around the cup.

---

Tessa was small and fast, with silver hoops and a voice like gravel. She recognized me before I said a word.

"Room 412!" She grabbed both my hands. "Look at you. Eyes open. Does it feel strange, seeing everything?"

"Very." I swallowed. "Tessa, I need to know who sat with me at night."

Her face changed. Just a little. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Because my husband says it was him."

She pulled me behind the nurses' station and opened a binder thick with signatures. Her finger slid down the pages.

"Visiting hours end at eight," she said. "After that, family has to sign in at this desk."

I leaned over the binder. Day after day of names. *L. Brennan, 2:15 p.m. L. Brennan, 3:40 p.m.* Short visits. Twenty minutes. Thirty.

Then the night lines. Every single night, the same handwriting. Small. Square. Pressed so hard it dented the paper.

Just one letter. *J.*

"Who is J?" I asked.

"Wren!"

I spun around.

Liam was striding down the hallway, still in his suit. His hair was messy, like he'd been shoving his hands through it.

"Dolores called you," I said.

"Of course she called me. You told me you were at a pharmacy." He grabbed my elbow. Not hard. Not gentle either. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the logs."

"Why?"

"Because you only signed in during the day, Liam."

He glanced at the binder. Then at Tessa. Then back at me. When he spoke, his voice was smooth again.

"The night entrance doesn't log anyone. I came in through the ER side so I wouldn't wake the whole floor. Right?" He turned to Tessa. "Right?"

Tessa crossed her arms. "There's no night entrance to this floor, Mr. Brennan."

His grip on my elbow tightened.

"Okay. Fine. Sometimes I signed my initial wrong. I was exhausted. *J*, *L*, whatever, I was half-asleep." He tugged me toward the elevator. "Babe, come on. This is embarrassing. You're upset, you're not thinking straight—"

"Stop saying I'm confused." I yanked my arm free. "I'm not confused. I remember everything."

"You remember a fantasy."

"I remember calluses, Liam."

He stared at me. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

His phone rang in his pocket. He checked the screen, and his whole face shifted. Softer. Guiltier.

I didn't need to see the name. I knew.

"I have to take this." He stepped back toward the elevator. "Stay here. Don't move. We're going home together."

He turned away and lowered his voice. "Hey. No, I'm with her. I know. I know. Give me ten minutes."

I watched his back. The suit I'd picked out for him. The shoulders I used to lean on.

Somewhere inside me, something cracked all the way through.

Tessa touched my arm. When I looked at her, her eyes were wet.

"I wasn't sure I should say anything," she whispered. "You were so out of it. And he made me promise."

"Who made you promise?"

She glanced at Liam, still murmuring into his phone. Then she leaned close.

"Honey, the man who sat with you every night never once said he was your husband."