And I didn't know I was taking it.
Worse, she had brought another man into the test before it started.
At 9:12, Lauren called.
I answered.
She sounded relieved.
"Adam."
"Cole came here."
Silence.
Then:
"What?"
"He showed me the messages."
Nothing.
"Lauren."
Her voice became small.
"I can explain."
"No."
"Please."
"You messaged him before the trip."
"Yes."
"You knew he'd be at the resort."
"Yes."
"You told him to pretend you hadn't spoken."
She started crying.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me when we were upstairs?"
"I panicked."
"You had every chance."
"I know."
"I asked what happened."
"I know."
"You gave me the version you thought I could survive."
"I was scared you'd leave."
I laughed softly.
"So you lied to stop me from responding to the truth."
"I didn't know what I wanted."
"Then you should have been alone until you did."
That landed.
She went quiet.
I continued.
"You don't get to keep me as the safe option while you audition another life."
"I wasn't auditioning him."
"You told him the trip might be our last."
"I was confused."
"You told him to act like you were strangers."
"I know."
"You arranged the lie before we packed."
She sobbed.
"I know."
For the first time, I raised my voice.
"Then stop saying you don't know!"
Silence.
I took a breath.
Lowered it again.
"You knew enough."
She cried quietly.
I said:
"I'm going home tomorrow."
"I'll come."
"No."
"We live together."
"For now."
"Adam."
"When do you leave?"
"Monday."
"Stay."
"Use the room."
"I'll leave."
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want another dramatic sacrifice I have to feel responsible for."
She stopped.
"Then what do you want?"
"The truth."
"I've told you."
"No."
"You told me after another man showed me the part you hid."
She had no answer.
I said:
"I'll contact you when I'm home."
Then I hung up.
I drove back Sunday morning.
Four hours gave me too much time to think.
Every recent memory changed shape.
Lauren smiling at her phone.
Lauren taking longer grocery trips.
Lauren becoming irritated whenever I entered the room unexpectedly while she was texting.
Maybe none of those involved Cole.
That was almost worse.
Once trust breaks, the mind starts investigating everything.
I didn't want to become that person.
Detective husband.
Phone checker.
Location tracker.
Interrogator.
I knew enough already.
At home, the house felt strangely untouched.
Her coffee mug beside the sink.
Shoes near the entryway.
A cardigan over the couch.
Seven years of marriage still arranged normally around me.
I slept in the guest room.
Monday afternoon, Lauren returned.
I heard the garage.
Then the front door.
She found me at the kitchen table.
I had a legal pad in front of me.
She looked exhausted.
No makeup.
Hair pulled back.
The version of Lauren strangers rarely saw.
For one dangerous second, I wanted to stand and hold her.
Habit is powerful.
Instead, I stayed seated.