Marco held his gaze. “Do you trust her?”
“Of course.”
“Then why do you look like you haven’t slept in weeks?”
That night, Jessica slept beside him with one hand tucked under her cheek. David lay awake and watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. He remembered the woman he married, the woman who cried during shelter dog commercials, the woman who once drove across town in a thunderstorm because his mother needed medicine.
He loved her.
That was the problem.
If he loved her less, maybe the fear would hurt less.
The next morning, he watched every detail.
Jessica checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. She adjusted her earrings. She rubbed lotion onto her hands and slipped her phone into her purse. When she reached the front door, she paused as always.
David stood in the kitchen, gripping a mug he had not yet filled.
“Have a good day,” he called.
“You too, honey,” she said.
Then came the breath.
Then the smile.
Then she was gone.
David waited until her car disappeared.
He picked up his phone and called his office.
“This is David Albury,” he said, trying to sound congested. “I’m not feeling well. I need to take a sick day.”
His supervisor sounded surprised. David had not called in sick for 3 years.
After hanging up, David stood in the silent kitchen for exactly eleven seconds.
Then he ran to his car.
Following someone in real life was nothing like in movies. There was no dramatic music, no clean line of sight, no easy way to stay hidden while also not losing the car ahead.
David kept two vehicles between himself and Jessica whenever he could. His palms sweated against the steering wheel. Every red light felt like judgment. Every turn felt like a test.
Jessica did not drive toward St. Catherine’s Hospital.
That was the first real blow.
The hospital was east of their house, a familiar route through school zones and residential streets. Jessica went west instead, toward downtown.
David tried to create innocent explanations.
Maybe she had a meeting.
Maybe she was picking up paperwork.
Maybe she needed to stop somewhere before her shift.
But Jessica drove with the confidence of someone following a routine. She did not check directions. She did not hesitate at intersections. She moved through morning traffic like she knew exactly where she was going.
Twenty minutes later, she turned into the underground parking garage of Pinnacle Tower.
David almost missed the entrance because he was staring at the building.
Pinnacle Tower was one of the most expensive office buildings in the city. Its mirrored glass caught the sunrise and threw it back in blinding fragments. The companies inside had names David saw on legal documents and investment reports. Private equity firms. High-end law offices. International consultants.
Not pediatric nurses.
David parked three levels above Jessica because he was afraid she might see his car. He took the stairs down two flights, then changed his mind and hurried into the elevator instead. By the time he reached the lobby, his heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
The lobby looked like money.
Marble floors. White orchids. Glass walls. Security guards in tailored suits.
David scanned the crowd and did not see
