The phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't need to check it. I already knew who it was.
I wasn't ready to look yet.
I turned away from the screen's faint glow and let my gaze drift to the rain painting streaks down the window. A foggy blanket wrapped around the city skyline, smothering the lights. Fitting, I thought. The whole day felt suffocating.
In my line of work, betrayal was ordinary. It slithered beneath every false alibi, every nervous witness. But I never imagined I'd find it tucked inside the man I'd trusted for ten years. The guy who is supposed to be the father of my children.
Reid.
I finally gave in, lifting the phone with stiff fingers. The message was short. A time. A hotel room number. No name, but I didn't need one.
9:30 pm. Room 214.
Three hours ago.
I let the phone fall onto the bed, my heart pounding in the heavy silence of our apartment. He was probably asleep in the other room, as if nothing had happened. As if the weight of this didn't exist between us.
I should have confronted him the moment I saw the first message last week. But I hesitated. I'd told myself I was mistaken—maybe I misunderstood, maybe it wasn't what it looked like.
But it was exactly what it looked like.
A knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Kate?" Reid's voice was soft, cautious. "I thought I heard you get up. You okay?"
I pressed my eyes shut, willing away the burn behind them. "I'm fine."
A lie. But then, we were both getting good at those.
He hesitated. I could hear his hand resting on the doorknob, like he was debating whether to turn it. In the end, he didn't. His footsteps receded down the hall.
I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes, staring at the reflection in the glass. I didn't recognize the woman looking back at me. She looked tired—older somehow, like the years had finally caught up.
I sat down at the edge of the bed, turning the phone over in my hand. The detective in me needed to know who she was.
The wife in me didn't.
Don't look, Kate. Just put the phone away.
But I opened his messages anyway.
Her name was Anna.
The first text was dated five months ago. I scrolled through the history, reading each exchange like it was evidence at a crime scene. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. It felt like trying to look away from a train wreck.
I miss you so much.
I want you.
I'll see you tonight.
She doesn't know.
That one stayed with me the longest.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood, wrapping my arms around myself. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in.
I needed air.
I grabbed my coat and slipped out the door, careful not to wake Reid. The elevator ride down was painfully slow, and by the time I stepped onto the street, the rain had soaked through the thin material of my jacket.
I didn't care.
I walked without direction, my mind spiraling in circles.
A part of me tried to rationalize it. Maybe this was just physical for him. Maybe it didn't mean anything. But that thought only twisted the knife deeper. Because if it meant nothing, then how easily had he thrown us away?
My phone buzzed again. I expected it to be him, but it wasn't.
It was Marcus.