She hesitated.
Then told me.
At the time, I didn’t think much about it.
Three weeks later, it changed again.
She started working late too.
Emma had always worked hard.
That wasn’t suspicious by itself.
Marketing people can turn a product launch into a week-long emergency because someone dislikes a font.
But suddenly there were more evening events.
Networking receptions.
Client dinners.
Agency mixers.
Drinks after presentations.
Sometimes she came home at ten.
Sometimes midnight.
Once nearly one.
“Big night?”
I asked.
She kicked off her heels.
“Exhausting.”
“How was the client?”
“Fine.”
“What did you guys end up doing?”
“Drinks.”
“Where?”
Emma stared at me.
“Why?”
“Conversation?”
She smiled, but it wasn’t her normal smile.
“Sorry. I’m tired.”
Then she kissed my forehead and went upstairs.
That became another change.
Vagueness.
Emma had once returned from a twenty-minute grocery trip with an entire story about a cashier and a woman arguing over coupons.
Now she could spend six hours at an industry event and describe it with:
“Fine.”
Or:
“Boring.”
Or:
“Same people.”
I noticed.
I told myself noticing did not equal evidence.
Then there were the clothes.
Two new dresses appeared in her closet.
Nothing scandalous.
Nothing she needed my permission to buy.
But I had never seen them.
One Friday evening, she came downstairs wearing a black fitted dress I didn’t recognize.
“You look nice.”
Emma smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“Fancy work.”
“It’s a brand dinner.”
“Want me to drive you?”
“No.”
Too fast.
She softened her voice.
“You don’t need to.”
“I know.”
“Sophie’s meeting me downtown anyway.”
Sophie was one of Emma’s closest friends.
They had known each other since college.
That made the explanation easy to accept.
I kissed Emma goodbye.
At 11:47 that night, she texted:
Still with Sophie. Don’t wait up.
I went to bed.
Emma came home sometime after one.
The next morning, I asked if Sophie had enjoyed the restaurant.
Emma paused.
Only for a fraction of a second.
“Yeah.”
That pause stayed with me.
I began noticing others.
If I entered the room while she was texting, she sometimes turned the phone over.
If I asked what she was smiling at, she said:
“Work.”
One evening, she laughed at a message while we were watching television.
“That must be some amazing spreadsheet.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“You said work.”
“Oh.”
She looked at the screen.
“Yeah. It’s Alex.”
That was the first time I remembered hearing the name.
“Who’s Alex?”
“Alex Kendall.”
She said it casually.
“Strategy guy from Calder & Rowe.”
I knew the agency.
“So work.”
“Basically.”
“Basically?”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Industry friend.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A while.”
That answer bothered me.
Not because a woman in a relationship cannot have male friends.
Because Emma usually overexplained harmless things.
Now she was underexplaining.
“What does ‘a while’ mean?”
She looked at me.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Interrogating.”
I stared.