Page 224 of Homewrecker

I sat up. There were pictures attached. The first was the apartment. The couch I’d picked. The table we’d fucked on before we’d ever eaten on it. The wall I’d designed. Picture after picture. Me kissing his cheek. Him standing behind me with his arms around my waist. Us at a beach. Us at dinner. Us wearing matching Christmas pajamas like two fucking idiots.

Us.

Every photograph I had once looked at as proof that I wasn’t some woman he was hiding had become evidence that I was exactly that. Ravenna had made it her mission to expose every photo that was displayed and stored in that apartment.

I swiped to the picture of an anniversary card I’d given him. I knew my handwriting before I even zoomed in.

Two years down. Forever to go.

The promise-ring box. A picture of the bedroom. My robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. My slippers beside the bed. My skin-care products lined up beside his. A drawer pulled open with my underwear inside.

Jesus Christ.

Ravenna had photographed everything. Every piece of evidence she needed to prove her husband hadn’t just fucked another woman. He’d built another fucking life.

I went back to her caption. Ravenna didn’t write like a woman having a breakdown. She was precise. She said she’d recently discovered that her husband of more than a decade had maintained a three-year relationship with another woman while simultaneously telling her he was committed to repairing their marriage. She admitted their marriage had experienced difficulties, but she made one thing painfully clear: She had never known about me. Never consented to an open marriage. Never agreed that their marriage was over. Never knew her husband had another residence where another woman had clothes, toiletries, framed photographs, and gifts. Then she named me.

Blair James

My full fucking name. And underneath it, my business.

My throat closed. “No.”

I clicked the comments. The comments were coming faster than I could read them.

Three YEARS???

Baby burn all his shit.

A whole apartment??? Men are insane.

Not matching Christmas pajamas. Oh he was living TWO lives.

I would be under the jail.