Eileen shifted her gaze from her chipped toenails peeking out from her comfy sandals—if she’d known she’d end up in first class, she would have worn different shoes—up to Chris’s friendly face. “The drinks are complementary?”

“One of the perks.”

“I’ll have a Scotch, please. Straight.”

“Coming right up.”

Eileen managed to lift the corners of her mouth enough to approximate a smile.

Once he left to pour her drink, she pulled her bag onto her lap and reopened the envelope. Careful to not look at any of the pictures, the images already seared permanently into her memory, she found Dave’s ragged edged note and took it out.

“Your drink, Ms. Greyden,” Chris said, placing the tumbler on the small table next to her seat.

“Thank you,” she whispered leaning toward him.

After he walked away, Eileen took a sip from her glass, felt her throat burn, and sat back. Her single pod angled toward the window, which gave her a bit of privacy. She unfolded Dave’s note on her lap.

Eric,

As you can see, I know what has been going on between you and Lauren. I have no idea for how long, but as I think back, I realize there have been plenty of clues and red flags I’ve obviously ignored. I suspect it’s been years.

I love my wife. I can’t imagine living my life without her. I am giving you this envelope, with only a fraction of the evidence I have, as a warning—stay away from her. Stay away from her or the next envelope I deliver will be to Eileen. So unless you’re ready to end your marriage, break up your home, have your kids find out what you’ve done, stay the fuck out of my house and my bed.

I don’t think your wife would be as willing to try to forget as I am.

Dave

As soon as she finished reading Dave’s threat, the neural wash of memories rushed up against the floodgates of her consciousness.

Fourth of July. She had stood at her kitchen sink—rinsing vegetables. Their house had buzzed with neighbors and friends. Kids tore through the house, upstairs, out the backdoor. The doorbell continued to ring as more and more people arrived, eventually getting directed to the kitchen or out the backdoor to the cooler filled with beer. The grill, manned by Eric’s brother, pumped out the smoky promise of perfectly grilled gourmet burgers, sizzling bratwursts, and hot dogs for the kids.