Chapter 2 - The Woman in Building Four
My husband lost his phone yesterday, and I was so relieved when a stranger called me from his number that I actually laughed when I answered.
Ten minutes later, I was standing on our front porch wondering whether the man I had trusted for thirteen years had been living an entirely different life.
The stranger had already handed Julian’s phone back to me.
He was halfway down the walkway when I called after him.
“Wait. Where did you find it?”
He stopped.
For some reason, that tiny hesitation frightened me more than anything else.
He turned around slowly.
“Willow Creek Apartments,” he said. “Building Four.”
Everything inside me went still.
Willow Creek was twenty minutes north of downtown.
Julian’s office was downtown.
His gym was twelve minutes south of his office.
There was absolutely no reason for him to have been anywhere near Willow Creek.
But that wasn’t what made my stomach drop.
I knew someone who lived there.
Or at least, I thought she still did.
Rachel Monroe.
Julian’s ex-girlfriend.
I had never met Rachel properly, but I knew enough about her to recognize her address because three years earlier, a Christmas card intended for Julian’s mother had accidentally been forwarded to our house.
Rachel’s return address had been printed in the upper-left corner.
Willow Creek Apartments.
Building Four.
I remembered because Julian had taken the envelope out of my hand unusually fast.
“That’s weird,” he’d said.
Then he had torn it in half and tossed it into the recycling.
I hadn’t thought about it again.
Until now.
The stranger standing in my driveway looked uncomfortable.
“You okay?”
I forced my mouth to move.
“Yes.”
It came out as barely more than air.
He nodded toward the phone in my hand.
“It was lying near the curb beside the parking lot. Screen was cracked already, but it charged fine.”
“Near which apartment?”
He frowned, thinking.
“Building Four. Around the side entrance.”
My fingers tightened around the device.
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah. Maybe six-thirty in the evening.”
Six-thirty.
Julian had told me he left work shortly after five, stopped at the gym, realized his phone was missing around six-fifteen, then drove home.
He had walked through our door at six-forty looking frantic.
His timeline suddenly had a hole big enough to swallow our entire marriage.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The stranger gave me another concerned look before returning to his car.
I watched him leave.
Then I remained standing on the porch long after his vehicle disappeared.
The morning was beautiful.
Sunlight fell through our maple trees.
A sprinkler clicked rhythmically across the neighbor’s yard.
Somewhere down the street, a child was laughing.
Everything looked exactly like my life.
But it no longer felt like my life.
I went inside.
Julian’s phone felt strangely heavy in my hand.
We had met when I was twenty-three.
He was twenty-five.
I was working at a small marketing company in Columbus, and Julian had just started his first job in commercial real estate. We met at a friend’s birthday party when he accidentally knocked over my glass of wine while reaching for a napkin.
He apologized for ten straight minutes.
Then he bought me another drink.
Then coffee.
Then breakfast the next morning.
Six months later, he gave me a key to his apartment.
Two years later, he proposed.
I had never been the kind of woman who believed relationships were supposed to be effortless.
But ours had come surprisingly close.
Julian remembered tiny things.
The name of my childhood dog.
How I hated cilantro.
That I always got cold in movie theaters.
When my father died eight years ago, Julian slept in a chair beside me for three nights because I couldn’t bear being alone.
When I started my photography business, he refinanced his car to help me buy equipment.
When we struggled through two years of infertility, he never once blamed me.
We eventually stopped trying.
That had been painful.
But we survived it.
Together.
That word mattered to me.
Together.
And now I was standing in our kitchen holding the phone he had apparently dropped outside another woman’s apartment.
I put it on the counter.
I didn’t touch it again for nearly an hour.
I told myself there could be an explanation.
Maybe Rachel no longer lived there.
Maybe Julian had a client at Willow Creek.
Maybe he had stopped to help someone.
Maybe the stranger was mistaken.
But every explanation collided with the same fact.
Julian had told me he went from work to the gym.
Not Willow Creek.
Why lie if nothing had happened?
At 10:14, my phone rang.
Julian.
His office number.
For a moment, I couldn’t answer.
Then I did.
“Hey, Em.”
His voice sounded normal.
Warm.
Familiar.
My husband.
“Hey.”
“Any miracle phone recovery?”
I looked at his device lying six feet away.
“You won’t believe this.”
“What?”
“A man found it.”
Silence.
Not long.
Maybe half a second.
But I heard it.
“Oh,” Julian said.
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
There it was.
Not Is it okay?
Not Who found it?
Where.
I walked slowly toward the window.
“He brought it over.”
“That’s great.”
His relief sounded forced now.
“Where did he say he found it?”
Another pause.
I wanted to rescue him.
That was the strangest part.
Some instinct developed through thirteen years of marriage still wanted to give him an escape route.
I could have lied.
I could have said downtown.
Instead, I said, “Willow Creek.”
Nothing.
I could hear office noise behind him.
A printer.
Someone talking.
Then Julian spoke.
“Willow Creek?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“Maybe he picked it up somewhere else and forgot.”
“He said Building Four.”
Julian stopped breathing.
I knew because I had slept beside that breathing for more than a decade.
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“I can explain.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Those three words destroyed every innocent explanation I had been desperately inventing.
“You can explain what?”
“I don’t want to do this on the phone.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“Emily, please.”
I closed my eyes.
“Was Rachel there?”
Silence.
That was my answer.
My hand began trembling.
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
“Was Rachel there?”
“Yes.”
The room tilted.
I gripped the counter.
“How long?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“Don’t.”
“Emily—”
“Do not tell me it isn’t what I think when you lied about where you were.”
“I know.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
I wanted to believe it.
God, I wanted to believe it.
“Are you seeing her?”
“No.”
“Then why were you at her apartment?”
“I’ll come home.”
“It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”
“I’ll leave now.”
“No.”
I surprised both of us.
“No?”
“I don’t want you here yet.”
“Emily.”
“I need time to think.”
“There are things you don’t understand.”
“Then apparently there are things my husband decided I didn’t deserve to understand.”
He said nothing.
My eyes filled.
I hated that.
I hated crying when I was angry.
“Stay at work,” I said. “I’ll call you.”
Then I hung up.
For the first time in thirteen years, I didn’t call him back.
I picked up Julian’s phone.
The lock screen showed us together.
A photograph from our trip to Maine last summer.
My head on his shoulder.
His arm around me.
Both of us smiling into the camera as though nothing in the world could ever reach us.
His phone required Face ID.
I knew his password.
At least, I thought I did.
412.
Our anniversary.
I entered it.
Wrong.
I tried again.
Wrong.
Julian had changed his password.
Something cold moved through me.
I carried the phone upstairs and placed it on his side of our bed.
Then I changed clothes.
I didn’t know what I intended to do until I was already holding my car keys.
Twenty-seven minutes later, I pulled into Willow Creek Apartments.
The place was nicer than I remembered.
Three-story brick buildings surrounded a landscaped courtyard. Families walked dogs. A woman pushed a stroller toward the mailboxes.
Building Four stood at the far end.
I parked.
For almost five minutes, I remained inside the car.
Every reasonable part of my brain told me to leave.
Driving to another woman’s apartment wasn’t who I was.
I wasn’t suspicious.
I wasn’t dramatic.
I didn’t stalk my husband.
I trusted him.
Or I had.
I finally got out.
The side entrance was twenty yards away.
I looked down.
Near the curb was a small scrape in the gravel where someone might have dropped something.
Meaningless.
But it made the story real.
Julian had stood here.
Yesterday.
I walked toward the entrance.
Then I stopped.
A woman had stepped onto a second-floor balcony.
Dark hair.
Thin frame.
Bare feet.
I recognized her from old photographs.
Rachel.
She was older now.
So was I.
She leaned over the railing and shook out a small blanket.
Then she looked down.
Our eyes met.
The blanket slipped from her hands.
Neither of us moved.
Her face lost all color.
She knew who I was.
And in that instant, I understood something even worse.
Whatever Julian had been hiding, Rachel knew about me too.
She disappeared inside.
Thirty seconds later, the building door opened.
Rachel came outside.
She looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
“Emily?”
Hearing my name from her mouth felt like being slapped.
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t expect you.”
“I imagine you didn’t.”
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
That unsettled me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She glanced toward the apartment building.
I followed her gaze.
Someone was standing behind the second-floor window.
A small figure.
A child.
I could see only the outline.
Rachel stepped between me and the building.
My heart started pounding.
“How old is your child?” I asked.
Rachel’s face crumpled.
She didn’t answer.
“How old?”
“Emily…”
I moved closer.
“How old is that child?”
Her voice broke.
“Seven.”
Seven.
The number hit me like a physical blow.
Seven years ago, Julian and I were already married.
Seven years ago, we were trying desperately to have a baby.
Seven years ago, Julian had held me while I cried after another negative pregnancy test.
I stared at the window.
The child moved closer to the glass.
A little girl.
Brown hair.
Then she turned her face enough for me to see her profile.
I knew that nose.
I knew that chin.
I had kissed both of them every morning for thirteen years.
Rachel whispered something behind me.
I barely heard it.
“What?”
Her next words changed everything.
“Julian isn’t having an affair with me.”
I looked at her.
Tears were running down her cheeks.
May you like
“He came yesterday because our daughter needed him.”
And for one long, impossible second, the entire world disappeared beneath my feet.
