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Dinah

I wash the dishes from our breakfast and consider the knives as I clean them.

There are scalpels at the clinic; those are what I should probably use, but it seems strange to have a small paring knife, the edge razor sharp, and not stick it in the pocket of my shorts.

This one here, the one with small watermelons printed on its blade, has a matching purple sheath.

I fit the point into the sheath and slide it into place, then tuck it into my pocket.

The smell of his huevos rancheros still lingers in the air.

I made fresh salsa to go with them, my mother on speakerphone as I sliced the tomatoes, her calling out the recipe items to me as I went.

There’s a little left, so I spoon it into a plastic container and put it in the fridge beside a bag of grapes.

He comes up behind me and slides his arms around my waist, pressing his mouth against the back of my neck, and I think of all the looks we get from other couples.

The envy on the wives’ faces. They all want what we have.

The spark. The respect. The bond. But they don’t understand what is required to keep all that intact.

Most of them would never put in the work required. They couldn’t. They aren’t built for it.

Tomorrow, I’ll put in overtime, with a task that will be my hardest, but it will be worth it, for this. I lean back into his hold and turn my head, kissing him on the lips. He smiles against my mouth, then pulls away, and for all my husband’s perceptivity, he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Hell, for the last month, the master of analysis hasn’t realized that his wife has woken up each day with an anchor on her chest, barely able to breathe. Ever since I got the first email from Reese Bishop, I’ve been drowning.

Joe was in the kitchen with me, slowing stirring a pot of bisque, when my phone first chimed with the notification.

Everything in my body froze at the introductory line of Reese’s email, and I excused myself to the small powder room we had built underneath the high part of the stairs.

I read the email three times, then ran the sink to hide the sounds of me vomiting.

I have always sworn that Joe and I are impenetrable, but I know, each time I’ve said it, that there is one thing that could knock us apart.

One thing Reese Bishop knew.

Between the risk that Reese told Jessica and the girl’s increasing proximity to Joe, I have to remove her from the situation, no matter how difficult that act will be. I plunge my hands back into the hot water and grab the sponge.

Tomorrow night, all this will be done, and the only thing to do will be to handle the aftermath of my actions.