He was standing there in his dinosaur pajamas, snot running down his lip, hands stretched out toward the bed like I was about to steal something sacred.
“Alex, sweetheart, why? Why do you need forks?”
“Daddy said.”
“Daddy said what?”
“Daddy said not to tell anybody. Not even you.”
“Baby, I’m Mommy. You can tell Mommy anything.”
He shook his head, crying harder.
“It’s Daddy’s secret.”
I tucked him back into bed with the forks still there.
I closed the door.
My hands were shaking as I pulled up Brandon’s name and pressed call.
Brandon answered on the third ring.
His voice sounded strained, thinner than usual.
“Cece, hey. I was about to call you.”
“Care to explain all the forks under our son’s mattress?” I kept my voice low so Alex wouldn’t hear. “I asked you a thousand times. You lied to my face.”
There was a long pause. I heard him breathing.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said finally. “It’s a game.”
“A game?”
“Yeah. I called it treasure knights. Alex hides silver swords under his mattress to protect the castle. That’s all it is.”
I pressed my forehead against the wall in the hallway.
“Then why did you tell him not to tell me? Why make a five-year-old keep a secret from his mother?”
“Cece, come on.”
“Don’t Cece me. Answer the question.”
He exhaled slowly. “I’ve been picking up less overtime. A lot less. I didn’t want you worrying about money on top of everything else you do. So I made up the game to keep him busy at night when I got in late. That’s it.”
I closed my eyes.
Something in his voice was wrong.
“How long has the overtime been down?”
“A few weeks.”
“How many is a few?”
“I don’t know. Two months, maybe. Cece, I’m at the hotel; I’ve got an early call. Can we do this Sunday when I’m home?”
“No, Brandon. We can do this now.”
“Please.”
He said it so softly it stopped me. He rarely begged for anything.
“Fine,” I said. “Sunday. But you are going to explain every single thing to me. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
I hung up before he could say anything else.
I stood in the hallway for a long time. Then I walked to our bedroom and opened his side of the closet.
I didn’t know what I was looking for.
Something. Anything that would make the shape of his voice make sense.
Behind his folded jeans, tucked under a shoebox, I found a manila folder.
I picked it up.
There were bills, credit card statements marked past due, a second phone, and a printout of a studio apartment listing across town, signed in his name.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at it.
I didn’t know how to process everything. I knew there was only one person who could help me. My sister, Marion.
I picked up my phone and called her.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Cece? It’s late.”
“I think Brandon’s cheating on me.”
I heard her sit up in bed. “Tell me everything.”
I told her. The forks. The lies. The apartment. The phone.
“Honey,” Marion said, and her voice went hard. “A second phone and a studio he didn’t tell you about? Come on.”
“He said the overtime is down.”
“They always say the overtime is down. Do you know how many times I heard that before Danny left?”
“Marion.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just saying. Get a lawyer’s number. Don’t confront him until you have your ducks in a row.”
I hung up sicker than before.
I picked up my own phone and typed a message to Brandon.
My fingers were shaking.
“I found the studio listing. And the second phone. Don’t come home Sunday. Don’t come home at all.”
I hit send before I could take it back.
My phone rang almost immediately.
I stared at his name on the screen.
I let it ring four times before I picked up.
He was crying. I had been married to this man for seven years, and I had never once heard him cry.
