It just couldn’t be. I told myself to give my head a shake. The thoughts were pellets in a shotgun blast. None lethal on its own, but all together, effective enough to kill. One of them was the folder I found on her computer. The notes to a lover. He was more than a lover. They were notes to the man who got her pregnant. Aubrey’s dad. I actually wanted to cry right then. The cut was so deep and so cruel.

Dr. Mary came in, then immediately saw the look on my face. Her eyes were full of what I was pretty sure was genuine concern.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Sorry,” I said, pretending to look at my phone before putting it in my pocket. “Took a call from the office. Fiasco with a project, and I’m not there to fix it, of course. Big mistake to take that call.”

She gave me a knowing smile. “Big mistake to hire a new nurse when there’s no one to train her but me. Goodness, how I hate Mondays.”

“I hate them too,” I said.

That Monday in particular was brutal. I’d brought my daughter to a medical appointment and left with someone else’s kid. I did nothing to deserve this. Goddamn Sophie! She not only fucking cheated on me, but she had a baby with the guy. I can forgive myself for things I’ve done, but I can’t forgive her.

After all, she was supposed to be better than me.

I took Aubrey for the drive home, barely looking at her in the car seat behind me. When I did, I saw only betrayal. I saw her mother in a hotel room taking it from another man. The affair might have been long over, but the consequences of it had ruined my life. After I handed her off to our nanny, Katrina, I returned to work. And since I’d made a big deal on Friday about being late because I was taking my daughter to her checkup, everyone asked me about it.

“She’s great,” I said.

A stranger to me, but great.

“Healthy as can be,” I said.

Some other dad would be glad to know that.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ADAM

Bradlee Mitchell is my organization’s millennial du jour. He’s got the misspelled first name that signals überindividuality and a résumé with more stops than a suburban airport shuttle, all indicating he won’t be around our office for long. That’s fine. He’s bright and eminently usable. I finally succumbed to my curiosity and deepening rage over Sophie’s affair with her soul mate and handed him the thumb drive.

“They’re emails. All from one sender. It’s not work related,” I cautioned him. “I’ll pay you.”