Chapter 3

He set the plate down in front of me, then went over to ladle the oatmeal.

"I let it cool for a bit, so it's not too hot."

He arranged the spoon neatly, wiped his hands on a towel, and picked up his car keys.

"I'm heading to work. Don't worry about cooking tonight—I booked a table so we can take Toby out. He mentioned he was craving those lamb chops from the bistro."

"Okay."

The front door clicked shut.

Toby had a white milk mustache painted over his upper lip as he chattered away about what he had played outside with the neighbor's kid yesterday.

I nodded along with quiet hums, gently wiping the milk from his face.

After breakfast, Toby ran back to his room to dig through his toy bin.

I cleared the dishes. As I walked past the coffee table, I noticed a phone lying on it.

Dylan's work phone.

He carried two phones: his personal one and the company-issued one.

The work phone usually stayed tucked away in the drawer by the entryway; he rarely brought it into the living room.

He must have dropped it on the coffee table last night and forgotten it.

I picked it up, and the screen lit up.

There were unread messages, but the lock screen hid the content.

I opened SnapChat on my own phone and texted him: *You left your work phone on the coffee table.*

No reply.

I waited ten minutes, then sent another: *Do you want me to drop it off at your office?*

Still no reply.

His office wasn't far from our place—about a twenty-minute drive.

School hadn't officially started for Toby yet, and right now he was completely absorbed in his Legos. He wouldn't get fussy anytime soon.

I slipped the work phone into my purse, slipped on my shoes, and headed out.

His company occupied the twelfth floor of a downtown office building.

I knew the receptionist, Chloe. She had joined the company last year, and every time she saw me, she would greet me with a bright smile.

Today, she looked caught off guard seeing me there.

"Mrs. Miller? What brings you by?"

"Dylan left his work phone at home. I came to drop it off."

I pulled the phone out of my bag.

Chloe took it, glanced down at it, and then looked back up at me with a strange look.

"Dylan took the day off today."

A few movers were wheeling heavy boxes through the elevator lobby, the cart rumbling loudly over the tile.

"Took the day off?"

"Yeah, he's not in today."

Chloe set the phone on the front desk, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the lanyard.

"He submitted his paid-time-off request last week."

*Last week.*

He told me this morning he was going to work.

When he walked out the door, his dress shirt was buttoned impeccably, car keys in hand, promising he had booked a dinner reservation for us tonight.

"Are you okay? You look really pale."

"I'm fine."

I turned around and pressed the elevator button.

My finger dug hard into the plastic, my nail turning white under the pressure.

The elevator hadn't arrived yet.

I looked back at her.

"Chloe, does he ever talk about his family at work?"

Chloe's expression flickered slightly. It was subtle, but I caught it.

Her eyes darted to the side, then snapped back, her lips parting hesitantly.

"Nothing much, really, just—"

"Tell me."

*Ding.* The elevator doors slid open. I didn't move.

Chloe bit her lip and dropped her voice to a near whisper:

"Dylan told everyone here that he's divorced. HR and administration know about it, too. During the last company retreat when spouses were invited, someone asked him why you didn't come, and he said you two were already divorced."