In fact, there are weeks and weeks of texts back and forth between Bowie and Naomie, the woman he’s been seeing. For at least the last two months, when Bowie told me he had to work late, he’s been with her. And last weekend, when he was supposed to be fishing with friends, he was actually at a cabin he must have rented for the two of them to get away.

“That motherfucker,” Emma whispers after a long moment, lifting her pretty green eyes off the computer screen to look at me. “How fucking stupid is he?” Like any good best friend, her outrage on my behalf doesn’t surprise me. Just like it didn’t surprise me that she knew something was off when I called her this evening while making dinner, and she told me without hesitation that she was coming over with wine as soon as I got Kingston to sleep.

“I’m guessing he doesn’t realize how stupid he is. He probably doesn’t know that his texts can be read from his computer. Or if he does know, he didn’t think about me using it, because I have my own and wouldn’t normally use his.” I take a sip of the wine.

“Who is Tucker?”

“I have no idea. Her husband or boyfriend, I guess,” My throat gets tight, wondering if he knows or if he’s going to be as blindsided as I was.

“She knows Bowie’s married.”

“I know.” She referred to me more than once, asking if he thought I suspected anything. She also asked about Kingston like she knew him and cared about his well-being. What a fricking joke. “As easy as it would be, I refuse to put the blame on her. I’m married to Bowie, not her. He should have been the one to walk away.”

“You’re a better person than me.” Her eyes go to the glass sliding door, where you can see into my living room and the family photo of Bowie, Kingston, and me that is hanging on the wall above the fireplace. A picture we took a month ago, looking at it now and the smile on Bowie’s face makes me sick to my stomach. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Leave him.”

“Good.”

“Is it?” I shake my head. “Should it be so easy to get to that answer? Shouldn’t I at least be thinking about working things out or trying to for Kingston’s sake?”

“Fuck no, M. You should not be thinking about working things out. We both know how that story ends. You confront him, he promises to never do it again, then a year or five or even just a month from now, you find out he’s screwing someone else. Fuck that!”