As I walked to the bathroom to grab the vitamins, a buzzing sound—James’s cell phone on the dresser—caught my attention. I gave it a disinterested, passing glance, but it buzzed a second time and two letters caught my eye: XO.

Trembling, I leaned forward to read the messages. They’d been sent by someone listed in James’s contacts as B.

I’m going to miss you so much, read the first one. Then:

Don’t drink so much bubbly that you forget about last Friday. XO.

The second message, to my horror, included a picture of black panties inside a desk drawer. Beneath the panties, I recognized a colorful pamphlet with the logo of James’s employer. The picture must have been taken at his workplace.

I stared at the phone, stunned. Last Friday, I’d spent the night at the hospital with Rose and her husband while Rose was in labor. James had been at the office, working. Or not working, I now suspected.

No, no, it must be some mistake. My palms grew clammy. Downstairs, I heard James moving about the kitchen. I took several steadying breaths and grabbed the phone, my fingers clutching it like a weapon.

I rushed down the steps. “Who’s B?” I demanded, holding up the phone to show James.

The look in his eyes said it all.

“Caroline,” he said steadily, as though I was a client and he meant to present me with a root cause analysis. “It isn’t what you think.”

With a shaky hand, I navigated to the first message. “‘I’m going to miss you so much’?” I read aloud.

James placed his hands on the counter, leaning forward. “It’s just a coworker. She’s had a thing for me for a few months. We joke about it at the office. Seriously, Caroline, it’s nothing.”

A downright lie. I didn’t reveal—yet—the contents of the second text message. “Has anything ever happened between you two?” I asked, willing my voice to remain calm.

He exhaled slowly, running his hand through his hair. “We met at the promotion event a few months ago,” he finally said. His firm had hosted a dinner cruise in Chicago for new promotees; spouses were welcome to attend on their own dime, but we were saving diligently for London and I’d thought nothing of skipping out. “We kissed that night, just once, after too much to drink. I could barely see straight.” He stepped toward me, his eyes soft, pleading. “It was a terrible lapse in judgment. Nothing else has happened, and I haven’t seen her since—”

Another lie. I pushed the phone forward again, pointing to the pair of black panties in the desk drawer. “You sure? Because she just sent this picture, telling you not to forget about last Friday. Seems she keeps her underwear in your desk now?”