Daniel started his sentence before reeling it in and having a second go at it. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Milly talked with someone about her problems.”

“It doesn’t matter? And what do you mean she’s talked with someone?”

Daniel beamed. “Anna, and she’s offered to talk more with her.”

The relief in Kelly clashed with an expected self-defense. Daniel had turned to his work-wife to fix their daughter. She shrugged to keep the tension in her shoulders from creeping up her neck and broadcasting its presence across her face. She failed.

“Anna is a trained counselor, and our daughter turned to her. At least she turned to someone.” He leaned away from her. “Or is this about something else?”

The last of the connection that had sparked back to life fizzled and then faded. Then a heavy silence.

Milly padded down the stairs, removing her earbuds on the final steps. Kelly didn’t need her daughter to see them fighting. Again. Not after the breakthrough of Milly finally talking to someone. Anyone. She had to deflate the tension, so she turned to Daniel. “Did you get the photos from the work dinner?”

Daniel stiffened. “They’re at work.”

“Any good ones?”

“I think so.” Daniel stood from the sofa and disappeared into the study.

Kelly stared at the closing door. Why the gear shift to disinterest? What was in the photos he didn’t want her to see? It had to have something to do with what happened on the deck. Even after his denials.

Daniel’s phone pinged. With a sideways glance at Milly, who was shoulder-deep in the fridge, Kelly grabbed it and headed out to the deck.

The text message was from a woman but not one from work. Amanda, his editor. “Daniel, we’ve all but lost the momentum we had with No Secrets. It’s been nearly a year now. Call me.”

Kelly threw a furtive glance back into the house. Milly still grazed in the fridge. Daniel’s study door remained closed.

She back-arrowed to the list of her husband’s messages. Before Amanda’s message was a recent text from an unknown number. Five minutes ago, when he’d turned over his phone.

“Daniel, we need to talk at work tomorrow. Mon.” Then a second message, almost as an afterthought: “xx.”

Kelly fought hard to rein in an anguished scream and swept away the message with a quivering finger. She had her evidence. If Daniel didn’t mention anything after tomorrow’s workday, something was going on. And he was lying. She needed to know where he got these photos developed. Her finger flicked through his phone history. No unfamiliar but persistent phone numbers. No calendar entries. And nothing about the photos.

Kelly reentered the kitchen, vindicated but grubby. How had her marriage reached a point where she was snooping through her husband’s phone messages? Silently, she placed his phone on the counter.