Chapter 2 - The Six-Month Autopsy
"Clare, stop," Vanessa pleaded, stepping further into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her. The sound of the lock engaging echoed like a gunshot. "You're invading his privacy. You're being paranoid."
"I am performing an autopsy," I corrected her.
I opened his messaging app. I didn't need to scroll far. I tapped on Vanessa's name.
"Let's see," I said, reading aloud to the room. "Yesterday, 2:15 PM. Vanessa: I can still taste you. Ethan: Stop, you're going to make me leave the office early."
Ethan closed his eyes. The remaining color drained from Vanessa's face.
"Wait, there's more," I continued, scrolling up, the blue light of the screen reflecting in my eyes. "Last Friday. The night you told me you were staying late at the firm to prep for the deposition, Ethan. Vanessa: Hotel key is under the mat. Room 412. Ethan: On my way. Wear the red thing."
I looked up. "I bought you that red lingerie for your birthday last year, Vanessa. I picked it out. I told the saleswoman you needed something that made you feel powerful after your divorce. Did it make you feel powerful?"
Vanessa pressed her hands to her face. A sob tore from her throat, but it sounded completely hollow. "Clare, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. We didn't mean for it. It just... it grew out of control."
"When did it start?" I asked, my voice rising just a fraction, the ice beginning to crack, revealing the boiling rage underneath. "Give me a date. Give me a timeline, or I will read every single message in this thread out loud until the sun comes up."
Ethan let out a long, ragged exhale. The fight drained out of him. He looked down at the hardwood floor, unable to meet my eyes.
"Six months ago," Ethan muttered.
Six months.
I did the math instantly. Six months ago was April.
"April," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "The month my mother passed away. The month I spent three weeks in Ohio clearing out her house."
Vanessa flinched violently. "Clare, no. It wasn't like that."
"Wasn't it?" I demanded, the volume of my voice finally matching the devastation in my chest. "I was sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my dead mother's living room, boxing up her life, crying on the phone to you every single night, Vanessa. You told me you were checking in on Ethan. You told me you were bringing him dinners because he was so lonely without me."
"I was!" Vanessa cried out. "I was just trying to help! But we were both grieving for you, and one night we had too much wine, and—"
"Do not weaponize my grief to justify your lack of a spine," I snapped, the words cutting through the air like a whip. "You didn't sleep with my husband because you were sad for me. You slept with my husband because he was alone, he was bored, and you were available."
May you like
I turned to Ethan, who was still standing in his towel, looking less like a husband and more like a reprimanded child.
"And you," I said to him, the disgust rolling off me in waves. "You kissed me at the airport when I came back. You held me while I cried at her funeral. And the entire time, you were sleeping with the woman standing next to me in the front pew."
