“And that clip there?” I asked, pointing to another file timestamp.
“That was the following day,” he said gently. “She is crying in that segment.”
“Were they alone in the room?” I asked, feeling my stomach knot up tight.
“Gemma…” he started softly.
“Were they?” I insisted loudly.
“Mostly,” he admitted reluctantly.
I stared at the screen, feeling an overwhelming weight crash down on me. For three long days, I replayed Simon’s secret drives, hidden papers, and late-night calls in my mind.
At two in the morning, I whispered into the empty bedroom darkness, “Were you cheating on me?”
I hated myself for asking a question like that to a dead man.
The next morning, someone knocked firmly on my front door. Sadie was sitting at the kitchen table with her crayons.
“Mommy, who is here?” Sadie asked without looking up.
“I don’t know, baby,” I said, walking toward the entryway.
