Chapter 1: The Anonymous Tip
Being eight months pregnant in the humid heat of New York in July made me feel less radiant than like a slowly melting ice sculpture. I was lying on the couch in our Upper East Side penthouse, a bowl of pickles balanced on my belly, watching a Friends rerun, when the phone rang.
It wasn’t my phone. It was the landline — a dusty relic sitting on the hall console, which we had kept only because it was included in the internet subscription.
I straightened up, swaying slightly, to go and answer him.
« Good morning? »
« Mrs. Calloway? » The voice was digitized, distorted. A classic cinematic cliché, certainly, but it still gave me a chill, completely unrelated to the air conditioning.
« This is the line. Who is it? »
« Your husband, James, is currently at the Bernardin. »
I frowned. « I know. He’s at a board meeting. They’re running late. »
« He’s not in a board meeting, » the voice hissed. « He’s at table four. And he’s not alone. He’s with the blonde. The assistant. Elena. »
My heart skipped a beat. Elena. James’s executive assistant. Twenty-four years old, a graduate of a prestigious American university, with endless legs and a slightly too sharp smile. James had always boasted about her efficiency.
« Why are you telling me this? » I asked, tightening my grip on the handset.
« Because a woman should know she’s being replaced before the baby arrives. Go see for yourself. They look… very comfortable. »
The line was cut.
I stood there for a moment, the silence of the apartment oppressive. My mind told me it was a joke. James was a good man. He was the CEO of Calloway Tech. He was stressed, sure, but he loved me. We had fought so hard for this child.
But the irrational part — the hormonal and fragile part that felt like a whale in a world of mermaids — was screaming.
I didn’t call him. I didn’t cry. I went into the closet.
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