Inevitably, he would find something that made him, in his words, a little uncomfortable. A too-familiar sign-off, an after-hours chat with a work contact about something not work related. He would trot out phrases about professionalism and respect for your partner. She would apologize—and beg off girls’ night with the friends who he felt were a bad influence, cancel the coffee date with the male colleague Nathan found too forward. Then the whole thing would repeat a few months later.
Of course, he had been hiding things. And that day she had done what she hated, snooping through Nathan’s emails and accounts. He had been a little careful, at least. He used a dummy email account, but he’d saved the credentials on the browser.
The emails and phone calls went back months. She didn’t look beyond that. She didn’t want to know how long it had been going on.
She supposed she must have felt numb, but that seemed like too restrained a term for it. She had felt more like she had ceded control of her body completely, handing it over to an operator with no investment in the situation. She forwarded emails to herself, erased the evidence of having done so, and put Nathan’s computer back, all without having what she could identify as a genuine emotion.
She went upstairs. She sat on the end of the bed. She felt like she was pressing her ear to a wall, listening to muffled sounds on the other side. Only it wasn’t the murmur of a conversation but the hideous thrashing of her own emotions. If the wall crumbled even a little bit, there would be nothing to stop the agony.
And what good would it do?
He would leave, or he wouldn’t. He would love this other woman, or he wouldn’t. If she confronted him, it would be a fight. It would be recrimination and sorrow and tears and screaming.
Or she could wait. And when he left her—if he left her—she wouldn’t be surprised. She would have her things in order.
Or he would stay, and wouldn’t it be better then, too, that she hadn’t said anything? Because they could go on as they were, and she could keep it quiet, this horrible thing she knew.
She had so much practice, after all.
So she had waited. She had never checked his secret email account again, or tracked his movements on the phone. She had convinced herself that she was doing what she had to do.
Beside Emma, Chris shifted. He hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone over this. They had decided on what to say. It didn’t make it easier. “Yes, I was aware of that,” she said.
“Really.” Mehta raised an eyebrow. She might have been expecting shock or a false denial; she seemed taken aback not to get either.
Chris was talking. Taking over. Explaining that she’d been aware of the affair, and how long, everything that she’d told him. She let him drone on, staring at the tabletop.
“Ms. Palmer,” Mehta said. She’d lost track of the conversation. Mehta had asked her something.
“I’m sorry. What was that?” Emma asked.
“I asked whether you had confronted your husband about the affair,” Mehta said.
“No. We never discussed it,” Emma said.
“You knew your husband was cheating on you, and you didn’t say anything?” Mehta asked.
Emma stared at the wall behind Mehta. Her cheeks were flushed, the back of her neck clammy. Mehta must think she was pathetic. “I didn’t want him to stop just because he got caught.”
“And did he?” Mehta asked. “Stop, I mean.”
“I think so,” Emma said.
“You’re not sure?”
“I couldn’t exactly ask him, could I?” Emma pointed out. “Do you know … did he break it off?”
Again, a pause. Again, considering whether to offer this information.
“The affair ended two months ago,” Mehta said. Emma’s stomach twisted. Then it hadn’t been long after she found out. Before they knew about the baby, though—so he hadn’t ended it because they came here. “But it appears that the woman was the one who broke it off.”
Emma let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I see.” Then he hadn’t chosen her after all.
“I think we’re done here,” Chris said.
“I still have questions,” Mehta replied.
Chris shook his head. “I think Ms. Palmer has been more than cooperative, and she has been through quite an ordeal. We can talk about setting up another time to continue this discussion, but for now we are done.”
“One more thing,” Mehta said. She took a piece of paper from a folder and slid it over to Chris. “We have a warrant for Ms. Palmer’s phone and computer.”