Chapter 2 - The Return
The heavy oak front door clicked open at 11:20 p.m. Scott stepped into the foyer, shaking the autumn chill from his navy suit jacket. He looked relaxed, almost glowing with the self-satisfaction of a man who believed he had successfully juggled two lives without a single seam ripping. He loosened his tie as he walked toward the kitchen, whistling softly under his breath.
He stopped short when he saw Leonora sitting at the kitchen island, the overhead light casting sharp shadows across her face.
"You're still awake?" Scott asked, flashing a practiced, charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I told you not to wait up. Dropping Brooke off at her hotel took longer than expected—traffic on the interstate was crawling."
"Was it traffic, Scott, or was it the detour?" Leonora asked. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, devoid of the emotional outbursts he had been bracing himself for.
Scott’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he quickly rebuilt it, adopting the patronizing, gentle tone he had used at the dinner table to dismiss her. "Leonora, honey, you're doing it again. You're letting your pregnancy hormones run away with your imagination. I just dropped a colleague off at a hotel. There's no need to interrogate me like a detective."
Leonora didn't yell. She didn't throw a glass or start crying. She simply stood up, placed her phone flat on the marble countertop facing him, and tapped the screen to play the video recording of the iPad messages.
Scott glanced down. The color drained from his face so fast he looked as though he had been physically struck. The rehearsed smile vanished, replaced by a look of naked, panicked realization.
"Where... where did you get this?" he stammered, his composure shattering instantly.
"Your girlfriend forgot that family iPads sync iMessages when they're connected to the same household Wi-Fi," Leonora said quietly, her eyes locked onto his. "And she made the mistake of thinking I was as stupid as you've been telling your mother and your coworkers I am."
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Scott reached across the island, his hands trembling. "Leo, wait. Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like. Brooke and I—we're working on a major account together, things get misconstrued, she was just asking about the family dynamic—"
"Stop talking, Scott," Leonora interrupted, her voice dropping an octave into a tone so freezing he physically stepped back. "You used our seven-year-old daughter as a shield, a servant, and a babysitter so you could clear the house, manage your image, and carry on an affair right under my nose while I'm carrying your second child. We are done."
