Suspicion.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black sedan.
The driver was someone my family had employed since I was nineteen.
He didn’t ask questions.
He simply drove.
I watched the city pass outside the window.
Four years.
Four years of marriage.
Four years of pretending I didn’t notice the little things.
The late-night meetings.
The unexplained transfers.
The new accounts.
The sudden changes in Aaron’s passwords.
The way he had started keeping his phone face-down.
The way Jasmine somehow became involved in decisions that used to come through me.
I had noticed everything.
I simply hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Because love makes intelligent people stupid.
And I had been very, very stupid.
My phone rang.
It was my mother.
