My wife had already put on a set of lace lingerie underneath her clothes when she said, “I want one night of freedom with another man. If you truly love me, you’ll agree, won’t you?” I nodded. “I can do even better—I’ll drive you there myself.”
The woman standing beneath the porch light was Allison Reed. Mark’s wife. I had met her only twice before that night, both times at company Christmas dinners where Rachel and Mark had behaved like coworkers who barely knew each other outside the office. Allison lifted the envelope again. “He found it,” she said through the glass. Beside me, Rachel whispered, “He wasn’t supposed to find that.” I turned toward her. For the first time since we had left our house, she seemed to realize she had said too much. “Find what?” Rachel looked away. “Daniel, just take me home.” I shut off the engine. The automatic locks clicked open. “If you want to leave, you can leave.” She stared at me. “But I’m going inside.” For several seconds she didn’t move. Then Allison came down the porch steps. She wore jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and no makeup. She looked exhausted rather than angry, which somehow made the whole situation feel more serious. When she reached my window, she bent slightly. “Mark isn’t ...