Caleb answered casually. “From downstairs.” Marcus looked from his son to his wife. “You know this cologne?”
Lauren moved quickly. “Give it to me, honey.”
She reached for the bottle, but Marcus stood and took it first, more from curiosity than suspicion. The bottle was heavy in his hand, nearly full despite Caleb’s enthusiastic spraying. The label read Mercer No. 9, a boutique men’s fragrance Marcus had seen in department stores but never owned. He turned it once, then looked at Lauren again.
“Whose is it?” he asked. Caleb pointed down at the blazer hanging off his shoulders. “It belongs to the man who wears this jacket.” The room became very quiet.
Marcus’s eyes returned to Lauren. The harmless curiosity disappeared from his face. “What man?” Caleb started answering with the same easy certainty he used when naming cartoon characters. “His name is—”
“Enough,” Lauren said quickly, too loudly. “Give me the bottle.” Caleb stopped, startled. Marcus did not. “What man, Lauren?”
For a second she looked at their son instead of her husband. That decision told Marcus almost everything before the facts arrived. She was not confused. She was afraid of what Caleb knew. The realization moved through Marcus slowly, like cold water poured down the back of his shirt.
Caleb glanced between his parents. “The man from Mommy’s office,” he offered helpfully. “He comes when you work Saturdays.” Marcus felt something inside his chest go still.
He did work Saturdays, not every weekend, but often enough. Marcus was director of facilities operations for a regional hospital system, and major maintenance projects were frequently scheduled when clinics were closed and administrative traffic was lighter. For almost a year he had spent two Saturdays a month at hospital properties overseeing upgrades, safety inspections, contractor access, or emergency work. Lauren had never complained. In fact, she had sometimes told him to stop apologizing for the schedule because she and Caleb had “their own little Saturday routine.”
Marcus looked at his son’s blazer again.
The shoulders were expensive. Tailored. The lining was dark green with a narrow cream stripe, collegiate-looking enough that Caleb had probably thought the jacket belonged to a football player or coach. One inner pocket had the corner of a business card showing. Marcus pulled it out.