Part 2: I discovered my husband was having an affair with my best friend while we were all on the same airplane—and neither of them knew I was there. Instead of confronting them, I sent a small, beautifully wrapped gift to their seats.

CHAPTER 2: THE LITTLE BOY THEY TOLD US WAS DEAD

I stared at the photograph until the faces began to blur.

Ryan stood on the left, his hand resting on the little boy's shoulder.

Megan stood on the right, smiling in that familiar way she always did when she knew someone was taking her picture.

Between them was a child with sandy brown hair, gray-blue eyes, and a gap between his front teeth.

He couldn't have been more than four.

Before you destroy their lives, ask Ryan whose son this is.

I read the message again.

Then I looked at Dawson.

He was staring at the boy.

His expression had changed.

"Dawson?"

He didn't answer.

"Dawson, do you recognize him?"

His fingers trembled as he reached for the phone.

"Claire," he whispered, "how old do you think that little boy is?"

"Four. Maybe five."

He closed his eyes.

Something about his reaction frightened me more than the photograph itself.