Chapter 1: The Notebook Behind the Nightstand
“By the time I brought home the first picture of my unborn daughter, I already knew my marriage was dead. I just didn’t know how many people had helped bury it.””
I thought I was walking into my safe place.
I thought the worst thing waiting for me that afternoon was telling Damon that our baby had finally turned toward the ultrasound screen and that I had seen her tiny hands moving.
I thought I was about to share one of the happiest moments of my life.
Then I heard the sound from upstairs.
A heavy thud.
Not a dropped book. Not a cabinet closing.
A body hitting the bedroom floor.
My fingers tightened around the ultrasound envelope as I climbed the stairs.
“Damon?”” I called.
Silence.
Then a hurried movement.
I pushed open the bedroom door.
My husband stood beside our unmade bed, shirtless, pulling up his pants with shaking hands.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
“Emily?”” Damon finally said.
“You're home early.””
“You're right,” I answered quietly.
“I am.””
He grabbed a white shirt from the floor.
“I spilled coffee. I was changing.””
The shirt was spotless.
And the room smelled like Claire.
My best friend of twelve years.
Then I saw the champagne-colored camisole beneath the bedroom bench. A tiny blue sapphire charm dangled from its strap.
Claire's.
I recognized it immediately.
Damon stepped between me and the bed.
“Emily, how did the appointment go?””
I looked at the ultrasound picture.
“Our daughter is healthy.””
His expression briefly softened.
“That's amazing, sweetheart.””
Then a phone vibrated inside the closet.
Bzzzt.
Bzzzt.
Damon froze.
The closet door stood slightly open. Through the narrow gap, I saw a hand gripping my cream maternity coat.
A vintage diamond ring glittered on one finger.
Claire's engagement ring.
Damon coughed loudly.
“My throat's been bothering me.””
I almost laughed.
Instead, I placed my hand over my belly.
“I feel dizzy. Could you get me some ice water?””
“Of course.””
He practically ran downstairs.
I took pictures of everything.
The camisole. The bed. The shirt. The closet.
Then I placed Damon's spotless shirt over the brass closet handle.
A message without words.
I know.
Thirty seconds later, I heard whispers, followed by the side door opening and closing.
When Damon returned, his hair was fixed and his shirt was buttoned.
He handed me the water.
“Better?””
“Much better.””
That night, after he fell asleep, I opened the photographs again.
And noticed something in the corner of the final picture.
A small black notebook sticking out from behind the nightstand.
I remembered that notebook.
It hadn't been there that morning.
I waited until Damon's breathing became steady before sliding out of bed.
The floorboards creaked beneath my feet.
I froze.
He didn't move.
I crouched beside the nightstand and pulled the notebook free.
It was small, leather-bound, with no name on the cover.
The first page contained a list of dates.
Some were marked with red circles.
Others had dollar amounts beside them.
I turned another page.
My stomach tightened.
*February 14 — Emily's appointment. Damon confirmed she will be alone afterward.*
*March 3 — Claire to handle the nursery arrangements.*
*March 18 — Second transfer completed.*
Then I saw my name again.
*Emily — 14 weeks. Estimated delivery: September 9.*
Someone had been documenting my pregnancy.
But why?
I flipped toward the back.
A folded piece of paper slipped onto the carpet.
It was a bank transfer confirmation.
The recipient's name was Claire Whitmore.
The sender was a company I had never heard of.
The amount was $25,000.
My hands began to shake.
Twenty-five thousand dollars for what?
I heard a sound behind me.
“Emily?””
I nearly dropped the notebook.
Damon was standing in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes.
“What are you doing?””
I slowly turned.
“Couldn't sleep.””
His gaze dropped to the notebook in my hand.
For one brief second, his expression changed.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Then he smiled.
“That's an old work notebook. Nothing important.””
I glanced at the transfer confirmation.
“Your work pays Claire twenty-five thousand dollars?””
His smile disappeared.
“Give me that.””
“Why?””
“Emily, you're pregnant. You shouldn't be digging through things and upsetting yourself.””
I stood up carefully.
“Then explain what this is.””
He walked toward me.
“It's confidential business information.””
“Since when does your business involve my best friend?””
He reached for the notebook.
I stepped back.
“Don't make this difficult.””
There it was.
The voice he used whenever he expected me to obey.
I closed the notebook.
“I'm tired, Damon. We'll talk tomorrow.””
He watched me for a long moment.
Then he extended his hand.
“Give it to me.””
I placed the notebook on the nightstand.
He picked it up immediately.
“Good girl,” he muttered.
The words made my skin crawl.
He returned to bed, tucked the notebook into his bedside drawer, and turned off the lamp.
I lay beside him, staring into the darkness.
At 2:17 a.m., his phone lit up.
A message appeared on the screen.
*Claire: Did she see the notebook?*
Damon typed something.
Then another message arrived.
*Claire: You promised we wouldn't have to deal with her until after September.*
I stopped breathing.
Until after September?
Our daughter's due date was September 9.
And suddenly, I understood that the affair wasn't the only thing they were hiding.
They were waiting for something.
Something connected to my baby.
I closed my eyes before Damon could turn around.
A moment later, his phone vibrated again.
May you like
This time, the message preview contained just six words.
*Claire: Owen knows about the pregnancy arrangement.*
