Tucked away in the deep, dark shade of the old oak tree, nearly invisible against the mottled bark, was a pair of polished leather shoes. They were not hers. They were men’s dress shoes, dark and expensive, positioned in a way that suggested someone was standing perfectly still, watching her. Her breath hitched. She had been so focused on the horse, so enamored with the quiet beauty of the moment, that she had completely failed to notice the intruder standing only a few yards away.
The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. The person in the shadows was not a stranger; the shoes were unmistakably the pair she had bought Mark for their anniversary, the ones he claimed he had lost on a business trip weeks ago. A sickening clarity washed over her. He had not been at the office as he claimed. He had been following her, lurking in the periphery of her life, waiting for a moment to catch her in a lie she had never even told.
