Claire

I thought I was alone. Daniel was at work, and my son wasn't supposed to be home for another hour. I was standing in the kitchen texting Evan when I heard the dryer buzz upstairs. I left my phone unlocked on the counter. His conversation was still open. Six weeks of messages. Jokes that became compliments. Compliments that became flirting. Things I'd told another man that I hid from my husband. Nothing physical had happened. That part was true. Evan had never kissed me. Never touched me. We'd never had sex. We'd never even met privately outside of work. But Daniel was leaving town this weekend. And buried among the messages was the one I couldn't explain away. Evan: "Saturday. 8?" Me: "Daniel leaves Friday morning. Come over Saturday night." Evan: "Just us?" Me: "Just us." I'd told myself it was only dinner. That nothing had to happen. That I could still cancel. But I hadn't canceled. When I came downstairs, I froze. My son was standing at the counter with my phone in his hand. Then I saw his phone beside it. My blood went cold. I rushed forward and grabbed mine, but I was already too late. He'd sent everything to himself—the flirting, the confessions, Evan telling me he wanted me, and the plans for Saturday night. All of it. For weeks I'd comforted myself with the same excuse: I hadn't physically cheated. Now my son had proof that I'd arranged to be alone with Evan in our home while his father was away. And for the first time, I had to face the question I'd been avoiding. What exactly had I been planning to do Saturday night?