Then admitted purchasing the tracker.
She claimed she originally bought it because she suspected I was having an affair.
Amanda’s name came up.
So did several late work nights.
She said she hid it because she wanted “objective information.”
When nothing unusual appeared, she continued checking.
Not constantly.
That was her distinction.
She told the officer she usually checked only when I was somewhere unexpected.
When I left after the breakup, she watched the device again because I refused to tell her where I went.
She drove to Riverside twice.
The gray sedan had been hers.
She sat across from Whitaker Print & Copy because she wanted to see whether I was “okay.”
That was how she knew about the beard.
She had seen me through the second-floor window when I briefly opened the curtain after shaving.
I had not noticed her car parked farther down the street.
The unknown number belonged to a prepaid phone she had purchased because she thought I would ignore her normal number.
The silent voicemail?
Rebecca said she had not intended to leave it.
She had called.
Lost her nerve.
The clock was in the background.
The photographs had been intentional.
She wanted me to remember.
Remember what, exactly, changed depending on which explanation she gave.
Our marriage.
What we had.
That she knew me.
That I knew her.
Maybe all of it.
The strangest part was that Rebecca continued insisting she had wanted the divorce.
That initially made no sense.
I asked Helen.
“How can somebody tell you they don’t love you and then track you across the state?”
Helen looked at me over her glasses.
“You’re assuming surveillance is love.”
I went quiet.
“It isn’t?”
“I didn’t say what she feels.”
Helen closed a file.
“I said wanting access to somebody is not the same thing as wanting a marriage with them.”
That sentence rearranged the entire story.
Rebecca might have been telling the truth that night.
Maybe she really did not want the marriage.
But once I left, something she had always possessed disappeared.
Access.
She no longer knew where I slept.
What I ate.
Who I spoke to.
When I arrived home.
Whether I was miserable.
Whether I missed her.
Whether I was dating.
Whether I shaved.
Rebecca had wanted freedom from the marriage without surrendering visibility into my life.
I had given her something she had not anticipated.
Absence.
A week after the tracker was identified, Rebecca asked through the attorneys if we could meet.
Helen advised against a private meeting.
I agreed only if it happened at her office.
Rebecca arrived early.
I knew because her car was already outside.
The same gray Lexus.
My stomach tightened when I saw it.
I almost kept driving.
Instead, I parked.
Walked inside.
Rebecca sat in the conference room.
She looked different.
Not dramatically.
Tired.
Thinner.
No makeup.
Her hair pulled back.
For eleven years, I could read her face better than anyone’s.
Now I could not.
Helen sat beside me.
Rebecca’s attorney sat beside her.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Rebecca said, “I’m sorry.”
My hands were folded on the table.
“For what?”
Her eyes filled.
“All of it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She looked down.
“The tracker.”
“Start there.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I thought you were cheating.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“You knew months before I left.”
“Yes.”
“Then why leave it there?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
“Rebecca.”
“I checked sometimes.”
“How often?”
She shook her head.