Chapter 3: The Name on the Screen
The name on Marcus's phone was Daniel Holt.
Marcus hadn't spoken to Daniel Holt in four years.
Daniel was Maya's ex-boyfriend.
The man she had told Marcus was completely out of her life.
Ancient history, she had said.
We ended things before I even met you.
Marcus stared at the screen.
The notification was a text message preview.
*"Did it work?
Is he gone yet?"*
The room went completely silent.
Even Maya stopped breathing.
Marcus turned the phone around slowly and held the screen up so she could see it.
Her face collapsed.
"Marcus—"
"Is he gone yet." He read the words out loud.
His voice didn't shake.
That was the most frightening thing about it.
"That's what he asked you.
Is he gone yet." He set the phone face-down on the table with a soft, final click.
"Gone.
Meaning my father."
"It isn't what you think."
"Then tell me what it is." He folded his arms.
"Because what I think is that you've been talking to your ex-boyfriend behind my back.
And what I know — because I watched it on that screen thirty seconds ago — is that you tore your own dress and threw yourself on the floor to make me believe my father hurt you." He paused.
"So correct me.
Tell me what part of that I'm reading wrong."
Maya pressed both hands over her mouth.
Her shoulders shook.
Arthur shifted carefully on the sofa, one hand still pressed to his jaw.
He didn't say a word.
He just watched his son with something that looked less like pain now and more like quiet, exhausted recognition — the look of a man who had been waiting for this moment for a long time and found no satisfaction in its arrival.
"How long?" Marcus asked.
Maya shook her head.
"How long have you been talking to him?"
"Marcus, please—"
"How long, Maya."
She dropped her hands.
Her chin lifted slightly, and for just a moment something shifted in her expression — the crying stopped, the trembling stopped, and what replaced it was something quieter and harder.
"Eight months," she said.
The number landed in the room like a stone dropping into still water.
Marcus didn't move.
"Eight months."
"I didn't plan for any of this to—"
"Eight months." He turned away from her.
Walked to the window.
Stood with his back to both of them, one hand pressed flat against the glass, looking out at nothing.
"Our anniversary was six months ago.
I took you to Napa.
We stayed four nights.
I thought—" He stopped.
Exhaled slowly.
"I thought things were good between us."
"They were.
Some of them were."
"Some of them." He turned back around.
"And Daniel.
What was he?
The rest of it?"
She didn't answer.
Arthur's voice came quietly from the sofa.
"Son."
Marcus looked at his father.
The bruise was already darkening along Arthur's jaw.
The sight of it hit Marcus somewhere below the chest — a physical ache, sudden and sharp.
"I'm sorry," Marcus said.
The words came out rough and low.
"Dad.
I'm—"
"I know." Arthur held up one hand.
"I know you are."
The gentleness in his father's voice was worse than anger would have been.
Marcus turned back to Maya.
"I want to know what the plan was," he said.
"I want to know what you and Daniel were trying to do."
Maya's jaw tightened.
"Because that text didn't say *how did it go* or *are you okay.* It said *is he gone yet.*" Marcus took one step toward her.
"Gone where, Maya?
Gone from this house?
Gone from this marriage?
What exactly were the two of you planning to make disappear?"
Her phone lit up on the coffee table.
Another message from Daniel.
Marcus looked at it.
Then he looked at her.
May you like
"Don't," she said quickly.
He picked it up anyway.
