“Then, who is Mandy, and why can’t she ring the house? And why have you suddenly been spending so much time in London?” She watched him carefully, studying his eyes and his body language. She should know, shouldn’t she? Just by looking, she should know. But she didn’t. And she realized he was staring at her, too, as if he was also looking for something.

How well do we really know each other? she wondered.

“At some point,” he said, “we should probably have a conversation about why you would see a woman’s name in my in-box and automatically assume I’m having an affair, but I guess that part can wait. Mandy works for a recruitment company. I’m not having an affair, Christy. I lost my job. I’ve been going to London for interviews and meetings with recruiters, but it’s tough out there.”

A recruitment company?

“You...you lost your job?” She sat down hard on the edge of the bed. The immediate feeling of relief that he wasn’t cheating was replaced by other, more complicated emotions. “When?”

“Three months ago.”

“Three—” She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t process. It was so unexpected. She’d thought—she’d assumed—“And you didn’t tell me? Why?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. I kept hoping I’d be able to fix it, get a job, then I’d be able to tell you bad news and good news at the same time to protect you from the anxiety part, but the weeks passed, and I had no success. And the longer I left it, the harder it was to tell you. And then suddenly it’s Christmas. I know how much you love this time of year, and you had the Lapland trip all planned. The dream holiday. The perfect Christmas. I know how much you want that for Holly, and I didn’t want to ruin everything. I was planning on telling you in January. But then this interview came up, and I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I have to go, Christy, even though it ruins your plans.”

He’d lost his job. He had an interview.

He wasn’t having an affair. She felt giddy with relief about that part, sick about the other. Sick for him.

“Of course you have to go. And it doesn’t ruin anything.” She felt guilty. Those nights he’d been lying awake, he’d been worrying about having lost his job. He’d been thinking of her. Protecting her. “I wish you’d told me. I can’t bear the thought of you going through this on your own, not sharing it. I could have helped. I’m your wife.” But what sort of a wife was she that she hadn’t even suspected? And what did it say about their marriage that he hadn’t felt able to tell her? She’d been so focused on the external parts of their family—the cottage, the lifestyle—she’d forgotten to pay attention to the internal.

Any relief she’d felt at the discovery that he wasn’t having an affair vanished. She felt terrible.

“How would telling you have helped?” He sounded tired. “This is on me. You’re the reason this matters, Christy. You and Holly. I have responsibilities, I know that, and believe me I’m trying to live up to them. I’m scared I can’t be what you want or what you need. Scared of letting you down.”